


Maybe In Another Life

by NoPondInTheForest



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Reunion, Romance, believe it or not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-08 17:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 55,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13462944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoPondInTheForest/pseuds/NoPondInTheForest
Summary: The Doctor is alone, stuck on a backwards little planet, but it's not so bad. He's helping, teaching; he likes caring about something again. Even temporarily.But then, when this strange place abruptly offers him something in return -a choice, a second chance to keep the love he'd long believed lost for good- he just might take it, and stay forever.No matter the price.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [achuislemochroi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/achuislemochroi/gifts).



> This is a gift for achuislemochroi, a lovely author who (quite some time ago) suggested I try my hand at writing some Twelve/Rose. On thinking it over, I knew that if I did so, it would 1) have to be a multichapter reunion fic, and 2) Twelve would actually end up with Rose (are there other longer fics where that happens???) 
> 
> Anyway, I've been drafting this for quite some time, it's been tons of fun to work on, and I hope you all enjoy it. :)
> 
> **This story is set post-Clara and pre-Bill.**

"Sixty obols? Are you _insane?_ The blasted thing cost half that four months ago!"

The old clerk peers up at him from beneath bushy grey eyebrows, his swimmy eyes emotionless but for a hint of bemusement, as if the Doctor's ire puzzles him. A beat later he turns away, idly shuffling through a stack of crinkled papers. "Sixty," he repeats, tonelessly.

Properly angry now, the Doctor's own (rather impressive) eyebrows draw together, but he bites his tongue. Old Foster clearly has the upper hand on this go round, so it's no good getting into an argument with him, risk raising the price even more, when the closest village big enough to have a shop like this is a good day's journey by horseback.

As the little troll begins to whistle carelessly, knobby fingers rifling through a drawer, the Doctor wheels round before he says something he'll regret. Long black coat flaring, he strides away, ducks into the first empty aisle he sees.

He should've seen this coming. Foster can't stand him; he's not about to miss a chance to stick it to the Doctor, now that the Doctor actually needs to buy something pricey from his shop.

Just- sixty bloody obols. Almost six months worth of saving, the near sum total of what he's managed to scrape up since he got stuck here on this planet. If he spends a major chunk of it now to buy that communicator, and finds on cannibalising it that there's not enough copper in its guts to rewire his breather, it'll be ages before he gets another go at fishing his TARDIS from that stupid lake.

Perturbed, he paces the aisle for a bit, shoulders round and palms pressed together at his chin, the rough, unfinished wood floors squeaking under his boots. The sound calms him a little, as does the old-timey Earth aesthetic. This shop always reminds him of the sort they had in the Old West, late nineteenth century. The rustic way it's cobbled together, warm breeze wafting in through open windows, the dusty, spicy scent. He likes it.

Unlike most of its Earth counterparts though, this place is quite large, and sells everything from groceries to (rudimentary) tech to used books. The shelves on his left are full of the latter and, though over the past weeks and months the Doctor's paged through most of them, he pauses as he spots a new arrival. A thick tome, sturdily bound in dark blue canvas. He runs a finger down the spine, but doesn't bother sliding it from the shelf to crack it open. Title tells him enough. _Wheat Fields._

No chance it's a clever play on words, nor is it a metaphor for anything. That will be a book on agriculture. Things are straightforward around here, exactly what they claim to be. Practical. And while he respects that to a point, this is just another book he can't possibly use in his class.

The Doctor sighs, trying to decide what to do next. Go home, probably. Maybe Foster will be in a better mood tomorrow. He could easily nick the communicator but he's not very keen to at this point, as he might jeopardise his job.

Besides, hasn't got a bit of time before he needs that breather fixed? It's strange... now that he thinks about it, he's not really all that sure what made him decide to pop in here this afternoon. Even if he gets what he needs he's got no time to tinker. Not with all those papers to grade.

Settled, he makes to head for the door- but stops after a single step, as the back of his neck prickles. Senses sharpening, he turns around, gives in to his gut-sense and crouches, glancing over the familiar, disorderly stacks of books piled on the dusty bottom shelf.

"What are you?" he murmurs as he spots it. A small, thin volume with a plain black paper cover sits askew on top of a pile, the air around it shimmering with fresh time distortion. The Doctor frowns, dismayed. He hasn't seen anything so weird in ages, and hasn't expected to. Hasn't wanted to. Not now. Not _here._

Dismay blooms into worry as he reaches for it, slowly, warily, like he's afraid it might bite him. And as it turns out, he's not quite wrong about that: the instant his fingers touch the paper his stomach turns and he grimaces, his Time Sense flaring out a warning that clobbers him right between the eyes.

The Doctor ignores, as best he can, the mauve alert shrieking inside his skull and grabs the booklet anyway, flips it open and squints at a page.

It's...poetry.

What?

No. Wait. The overt rhyme and rhythm...it reads more like lyrics. Like a song. His brain absorbs a few words, registers their meaning.

_...masters, commanders lord it over_

_...clever, won't matter, friends hate and fight_

_...love lofty ideals, but what about peace_

A protest song? War-protest?

Bewildered, he peeks at a couple more pages, finding more of the same before the dizziness gets to him and he hurriedly stuffs the thing into his coat pocket. The Doctor squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. Thankfully, the headache quickly abates, now that its cause is tucked safely away in a pocket dimension.

 _Coat-pocket dimension_ , he thinks as he straightens to stand, smirking at the wordplay despite his unease. That book- all he can tell for certain is that it does not belong in this time. What he hopes, quite fervently, is that it is also out of place. Because this is a pacifist planet, with a beautiful history free of warfare. It makes him ill to think the same might not hold true for its future.

"You finding anything good, Professor?"

Head snapping up, he blinks when he sees Mali approaching, gathers himself, and smiles. It's not overly difficult. She's his favourite student, a forthright girl of seventeen, dark-haired and pretty, with clear, intelligent eyes. They sparkle with fun, though her mouth is serious.

He sniffs. "No. All too boring."

Mali grins, wordlessly digs in her canvas knapsack to quickly pull out a book of her own. _Jane Eyre._ He recognises it, of course, since he was the one to loan it to her, and a small thrill ripples through him when he sees what she wants him to see. A snip of blue ribbon marks her place, set nine-tenths of the way through.

"Like it, do you?" the Doctor asks, brightening further. He'd had three books in his pocket when he'd gotten stuck here- a book on quantum physics he remembers shoving in there and two novels that he doesn't. Jane Eyre is one, a first edition of David Copperfield the other. He's extremely glad he has them, but knows he'll soon be wishing for a dozen more.

"It's different from the stories you tell," Mali explains, picking at the end of a long brown braid. "Yours are all adventure and action, but this one's...quieter. It's about... the sort of person Jane is, what she's thinking and things, as much as it's about what happens to her. I like that."

"I like that too. Jane's a fascinating person."

Mali nods, takes a breath. "Yes...that's part of why it's so hard for me to believe she _wasn't_ a real person." She eyes him, and the Doctor can see she's waiting for him to retract that claim, admit that he made it up, the way he makes up all the outlandishness he shares with his class.

(She'd never believe him if he told her his stories are true, that he's been honester in his time here than he's been in decades.)

"See, that, right there, is part of what makes it such a good book. You believe in Jane, maybe you'd even like to be friends with her, but you can't, because she's not real, she's Charlotte Bronte's invention. And she made her up by using what?" He taps Mali's forehead, lifts his eyebrows in expectation.

She rolls her eyes at his patronising manner. "Imagination."

"Very good."

"I still don't quite understand, though," she says after a beat, sliding the book back into her satchel. "You always say that if a story's not meant to be believed, it's not a lie-"

"It's not, it's fiction."

"-but this Charlotte person," she goes on, ignoring his interruption, "she made her story so real, on purpose, that I _do_ believe it. Or I would, if you didn't tell me I shouldn't. So how is it not a lie?"

The Doctor grins, proud of her for challenging him, for thinking it through on her own. Two skills that are neither encouraged nor valued on this planet (though he's hoping to change that, just a bit.) "You sound too much like Ms. Queras."

"You mean, if she was smart enough to think it up," Mali mutters, quirking one eyebrow devilishly.

The Doctor laughs. Oh, she's clever. Heads above the rest of his students, though he sees potential in them too (well, some more than others). "What a thing to say of the lead teacher, Mali. Careful she doesn't overhear you, you might be expelled for impertinence."

"But she _isn't_ smart enough," she insists, grinning. "If she was, she'd have used it by now, as a reason to make you stop reading novels to our class."

He grimaces, sucking air through his teeth. "True enough."

When he'd first been assigned his job, the "Literature" part of the curriculum he was to teach had horrified him. Aside from the occasional pretty turn of phrase, the books here are decidedly lacking in beauty, and near devoid of creativity. They're mostly non-fiction, history and biographies, and though there's few volumes of short stories, any fun to be had in those is all but choked out by heavy-handed moral lessons. It wasn't literature as art, as it should be, and wasn't that a bloody shame?

Ever the advocate of change, the Doctor rose to the challenge, determined to round out their practical education with a taste of the arts. It was slow-going at first; not that the kids' resistance surprised him. They're not incapable of imagination, but the cultural over-focus on practicalities has atrophied people's creative muscles.

So he used their books at first, began trickling in bits of his own stories, and once surprise and curiosity became enjoyment he started teaching them the basics of fiction. Pencils, which had only occasionally ventured from the realm of words and sums to draw a person or house or tree, were coaxed into doing so with frequency, and increased creativity.

A fortnight ago he deemed them ready for more, so he spends an hour every morning reading David Copperfield aloud. Most of the kids are enjoying it well enough, but so far Mali is the only one who's cared to tackle a novel all on her own. Still, he's encouraged, and he really needs more books from the TARDIS if he's to keep this going. He's determined to have them attempt writing their own fiction before they graduate.

Like she's read his mind, Mali takes out a worn school notebook, flips past pages full of sums and assignments to a spot toward the back. At the top there's a title, in her hurried script, _"The Tiypn's Daughter"._

"I know you said this week we're to write about something exciting that happened in our life," she says, with a shy hesitance that doesn't fit her. "But... I made this story up, like you do."

His eyes skim it, all ten pages, until it abruptly ends along with the notebook. It's about a girl who befriends a tiypn (a fierce, tiger-like creature). A rather simplistic plot, yes, but it's still good. The Doctor's chest swells.

"Ran out of paper," she explains, and his eyes cut up to find her biting her lip. Like she knows she's gambled on this, going against his instructions for the assignment.

He lets go, and the huge, face-splitting smile he's been holding back spreads across his face. "Mali, this is excellent," he says, genuine in his praise. "Are you going to finish it?"

"That's why I'm here," she explains, flushing pink. "Need a new notebook."

"There's plenty on the supply shelf in my classroom."

"I need a nice notebook," she modifies, turning to touch the leather-bound ones on the shelf.

His grin, if possible, widens. This isn't about grades or pleasing him. She's writing because she wants to.

"How did the story come to you, dear?"

"I don't really know," she admits. "I was trying to think of something for your assignment, and it just sort of popped into my head. I didn't want to forget it."

"The muse is an unpredictable creature," he says gravely, and shakes his head when she looks at him. "I'll explain another time."

"You're right, you know." Mali faces the rows of books, trips a finger along their spines. "Books can take you places. I just wish we had more like Jane Eyre. For you. So you won't think of leaving."

She says this with a giggle, like it's a joke, like leaving this village is impossible. And she's a tiny bit right, he thinks. Much as the Doctor wants his TARDIS back, he's not particularly anxious to take off in it, and she, all of his students, are a good part of the reason why. He's doing them good. He cares about something again. Why be in a rush to end it, when he's got nothing better to rush off to? Yes, it's amazing, wonderful, that he both saved his home planet and found it, but now that he has the choice to go back to Gallifrey, he can't imagine ever really wanting to. The little time he last spent there did nothing but remind him of why he'd run away in the first place.

"Me? You're the one that'll be graduating soon."

She shrugs. "Yeah, then I'll have to be a grown-up. Get married, all that."

"A grown-up," he echoes, disgust in his voice. "I'll never be one of those. Besides, don't you want to explore your planet, Mali?"

She shrugs again, though there is longing in her eyes, a tiny piece of her wondering if he didn't make up all his own travels, after all. "Don't know where I'd go. Besides, my whole family is here. And my parents are Ahionios. They've lived in this village almost forever, and they've never got tired of it."

It's a local word meaning 'eternal', used to describe certain paired inhabitants who don't age. The Doctor's heard the legends, isn't sure if he believes them, but it's a fascinating concept nonetheless. This is the first he's heard a student claim to be the child of a pair (well, except for Jeb Tatum, and the Doctor doesn't believe a word that comes out of that kid's mouth), and it kicks his curiosity into high gear.

"So..." Drawing the word out, he looks at Mali and thinks of parent-teacher conferences, an earth custom he'd do well to implement here. "How do you know that-"

Just then group of teens enter the book aisle, playfully pushing each other and laughing. The Doctor recognises all of them, and amongst them is his loudest, thickest, most opinionated male student, Kenna. With effort, he refrains from rolling his eyes.

"Professor!" Kenna yelps, pretending fear, though there is genuine surprise in his blue, over-pretty, idiot eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Sunbathing," the Doctor quips, deadpan. "Did you think I lived in the school?"

All the other kids laugh at Kenna then. Pleased by this, the Doctor teases them all a bit about finding books to add to their reading list, and though they know he's joking, it's enough to make them scatter. Mali picks a notebook and goes to pay for it, and, suddenly tired, the Doctor thinks again about going home for the night, to his tiny assigned cottage. He has a time anomaly to wonder/worry about, and papers to grade. He'll think up a way to deal with the clerk and his overpriced merch tomorrow.

His hand is on the door when Mali's voice catches his ear. She's not speaking loudly, but there's a note of anxiety in it that makes him turn around.

"...thought they were two," she was saying to the clerk. "Two's all I have."

The old man blinks at Mali, then looks past her to meet the Doctor's gaze. Holding eye contact, he puts his hand on the notebook and slides it away from her.

The Doctor's fury returns with a vengeance. Him being cheated is one thing, but his student? It is intolerable.

His boots thump heavily as he stomps to the counter, storm blazing in his eyes. "Oi," he growls. "Two's _plenty_ for that notebook. This young lady wants it for school, so if you think you can steal from her, just because you and I don't get on, then-"

A voice pipes up from alongside him, calm and feminine and authoritative, but it's the out-of-place cadence of her speech that halts his blistering words, freezes the Doctor in place.

"'S goin' on here? Some sorta trouble?"

His hearts speed as he catches a glimpse of blonde hair from the corner of his eye. It's a common enough colour, but combined with that accent, it's...it's impossible. No one has an accent here, the TARDIS translation circuit doesn't allow for it. He only ever hears accents when his ship doesn't translate at all, if a person is speaking a language he frequently uses.

Rassilon, if she didn't sound so much like...like _her_ \- he'd be immensely curious.

As it is, he's not curious at all. He's far too shocked.

"Sir? Sir?" he hears her say, and though he doesn't dare look at her, he notices the clerk is staring at him. Oh, oh no. She's addressing _him._

"S'alright," she assures, touching his arm, laughing a little when he stiffens. "You're not in trouble."

The Doctor's eyes widen. Oh, but he was. Because now it's too late, he knows the truth, he's caught her scent, and even if he runs straight out of here and doesn't stop till he's far, far away, he'll never be able to pretend this didn't happen. And though a million questions race through his mind, he is only capable of answering the one she's just asked.

"Yes, he's overcharging," he grinds out. "Three obols for this young lady's notebook."

"They're supposed to be two," she admonishes the old clerk, with such heat that the man shrinks back, and the Doctor finally gets the guts to glance at her profile.

If this is his mind playing tricks, it's doing an excellent job. Rose's jaw juts in indignation, her sculpted eyebrows drawn together, and as she tells off the merchant she is gorgeous. The first thing that hits him hard is how his memory has not done her justice, and a lump rises up in his throat that he can't seem to swallow away.

It's Rose.

_Rose Tyler._

Oh, and she is a young thing. As young as he remembers her, her skin flawless and fair. There is a flowering vine wound about her golden head in a twisted crown, and it makes her look like a princess. Her gown (cream-coloured, draped round her form in a flowing Grecian style) only adds to that impression.

And then he recognises it for what it is.

She's wearing the gown of the Peacekeepers. Esteemed and revered, they are the highest authority on the planet, and now he understands the old merchant's cowering. Despite his overwhelm, a smile breaks out on the Doctor's face. Only those with courage and compassion in large measure can earn such a position, and isn't that just Rose Tyler all over?

She glances his way and frowns a little, probably because of his sappy grin, which he quickly gets rid of. Clears his throat, averts his eyes, and notices the communicator he tried to buy earlier is now sitting on the counter.

"Thirty?" he says, not really a question, and Foster doesn't contradict him as he plinks the dull, misshapen coins onto the counter.

Rose watches the transaction with crossed arms. "This is your only warning," she says, as the Doctor pockets his purchase. "I hear about you overcharging people again, you're demoted to sanitation."

The bushy-haired man nods. The Doctor barely notices. Rose's eyes train on him, she studies him with a little brow crinkle, and he knows he needs to look away, walk away, get away, before she recognises him.

But his feet won't move; they affix to the dusty planks, his eyes affix to hers, and when her cheeks turn pink his own do too.

"Do you know each other, Professor?" asks a voice, and the Doctor blinks to find Mali still standing there. His mouth opens, his eyes return to Rose-

But she's gone.

She's strolling toward the door, creamy skirts flowing, like this is any other day, like she didn't just turn his entire world on its head. His fists clench as his mind whirrs, dizzily fumbling for any reason, any half-baked excuse to stop her.

He fails.

"She's new," comments another girl, Ane, as the door swings shut with a wooden clatter. "And young. Like, only a couple years older than me. Have you ever seen a Peacekeeper that young?"

Shaking her head, Mali gives him another odd look and then tucks her new notebook into her satchel. "She's pretty."

Kenna hoots. "They're all pretty. She, on the other hand, is hot."

Mali smacks the moron playfully and he laughs, says _not as hot as you_ and then they're all laughing and it's too much, the Doctor needs to get out of there.

"Go home," he commands himself once outside, after a few calming, clarifying gulps of fresh air.

It's knocked him a good one, seeing her here. Yet now that he's able to think a little, he knows he can't go after her. Her presence, while shocking, is not really a mystery; he'd gamble every last thing he owns that there's a misfiring dimensional hopper involved. And if that's the case, her being stuck here is a problem that's already solved. Nothing good can come of him mucking about with what, to him, is already ancient history.

From a distance, childish laughter catches his ear, and he looks over before he can stop himself. Sure enough, Rose is the cause of it, sunshine glinting off her hair as she reaches -illegally- into one of the village's huge decorative fountains to splash water on a group of four or five children who've gathered around her.

His hearts swell, he's grinning like an idiot. And when she wiggles her fingers to the little ones in farewell before continuing on down the stone-paved street, his feet, of their own accord, follow her.


	2. Chapter 2

In the wooded outskirts of town it's tougher, tailing her without getting caught, but the Doctor manages it. The sun is setting by the time Rose turns, touches her hand to a iron gate that is the only break in a tall, thick hedge. It swings open obediently, shuts with a clang, and he counts ten before he darts over to peek in after her, keeping his body hidden behind the hedge. Though the area is thick with trees the path she takes is wide and straight, and he can see her clearly as she unlocks the door of a pretty white cottage.

One by one, the windows light up, and he catches a few glimpses of her as she closes each shutter against the cooling night. It isn't long until the only sign of life is the glow that seeps from each window's square outline, though the Doctor continues his vigil for a few minutes longer before he realises what he is doing.

Has he gone mad? All this...creeping around, spying; it's stupid and impulsive. He's just lucky he didn't get caught.

Even so, he makes no move to go. Just slides to sit in the grass, tents his fingers beneath his chin. No doubt he'll come up with more self-recriminations later. Maybe he'll even mean them and be sorry. But right now, he admits to himself, all he feels is profound disappointment.

Rose _-Rose-_ is here, and he never even saw her smile.

It's such a...sentimental thought. And a strange one, as he is not at all a sentimental person. Certain past selves were quite inclined toward it, yes, especially the last two, but he'd shed his sappy softness along with the bow-tie. High time, too. His tough, abrasive outer shell is something he revels in these days. A prize he might've won an entire lifetime earlier, if not for his Tenth self's drippy, romantic, and rather masochistic dying wish to see Rose one last time, allowing her to influence the turn-out of yet another regeneration.

A snip of dusty memory steals out _-you alright, mate?-_ and the Doctor's breath catches at the image of Rose standing in the road. Her long colourful scarf, snowflakes in her lashes and hair, the wide smile that unfolds as he predicts she'll have a really great year. It is beautiful, but the remembered agony that still taints it is powerful enough to drive him to his feet.

At last, he's found the motivation to leave this place. Getting over Rose had been a near impossible task, one that took him literal eons. And while he is no longer suffering from the post-traumatic stress which made his Ninth self so susceptible to her, so inclined to fall in love, he finds that even now, he's unwilling to risk reviving even the smallest amount of residual heartbreak.

Still, his feet carry him to the gate one last time, and he presses his face to the bars. With the house all closed up he doesn't really expect to see her, but the distance between them is small enough that he gets a clear glimpse of her timeline. It pulses and swirls before fading into oblivion, no knots or rigidities about it. That's a bit odd. Not bad, just odd. At least he knows he's not unraveling anything major by walking away tonight, allowing Rose to find her own way back to her universe.

It's for the best, really. The dimension jumps must be hard enough already; he doesn't want her discouraged by an accidental peek at the future. One where they aren't together.

You're being an idiot, he mentally tacks on, growing impatient with his own internal round and round. Making a mountain of a tiny chance encounter. One she'll never even know happened if you walk away now, since she didn't recognise you.

But the thought only makes him feel worse.

Closing his eyes to the scene, he takes a breath and turns to go.

The only warning he gets is a soft thud behind him, a sound that barely crosses the distance from his ears to his brain before he's forcibly bent forward, his left arm twisted way up his back.

A familiar female voice hisses in his ear. "Why are you stalking me?"

Hearts racing, the Doctor tries to think, tries to come up with something, anything, that sounds sane and reasonable enough to get him out of here without further question.

But then, Rose gasps- a soft, startled intake of breath. And when her grip on his wrist loosens, he's not relieved at all.

"Doctor?"

********

His feet tap the floor and his fingers tap the table while he sits there, watching Rose bustle about, making tea. The Doctor feels a bit like he might jump out of his skin- everything's brighter and sharper than normal, and his chest and arms still tingle from when Rose flung herself bodily into his embrace. So tight and warm. The sensation lingers, almost like he's still holding her. It's beyond disconcerting.

Orangey light from two fuel lamps illuminates the room nicely, but Rose's face is shadowed and unreadable as she finally pours the kettle's steaming contents into two mugs. Her initial exuberant delight has faded, she's been quiet and tense, stealing glance after glance at him until he's horribly self-conscious. Running a hand over his unruly grey hair, the Doctor feels each and every deep line etched in his face. Good, he tells himself. She might as well see him for what he is. A cantankerous old man.

But he cringes when he opens his mouth and the word that comes out actually _sounds_ cantankerous. "What?"

Rose's lips twitch and her eyes instantly warm. "Nothing." She shrugs. "Just, I like it. Your new look."

It strikes the Doctor dumb, because it's the opposite of what he's expecting. This body can't compete with his Tenth, he _knows_ that, yet... he can tell she's being honest. Sincerity fills her eyes and voice and there's this funny set to her jaw, like she's daring him to fight her on it.

It's incredibly endearing.

And it reassures him enough that he takes her dare. "Always thought it was the pretty boys to catch your attention. Not the elderly."

"Like you haven't always been both," she mutters, rolling her eyes as she shoves a mug into his hands. "Though I will admit," Rose goes on, giving him a glinting, sideways look as she fetches her own mug, "your new accent has thrown me a bit. Tell me, Doctor- do lots of planets have a Scotland?"

His mouth opens in surprise, works (are they _bantering_ now; it feels like they might be, but isn't it a bit soon for bantering?), but no witty retort manifests, and, (and shut your mouth, Doctor, you probably look like a gasping fish.)

Rose begins to giggle (okay, scratch 'probably'). The Doctor shakes his head at her, lips quirking, like her little joke is too bad for him to laugh at.

(Not her joke, _their_ joke, rooted deep in their history, and it isn't bad, and this definitely isn't banter. Or it is, but with an edge of something more, something warmer and dizzier, and…friendlier. It's- it's how they always used to talk to each other, him and her. Like they had a secret language all their own.)

(Problem is, he's pretty sure he's forgotten how to speak it.)

"Now, ask me," Rose says, as she settles into the chair opposite him. "Ask me one question, and then I get a go, yeah? That's the agreement?"

He sips his tea. "Oi, I thought I said I didn't want sugar in this."

"Decided you need a bit of sweetening up," she grins. "Ask."

"I don't want to know too much right off," he explains again, and braves another swallow of tea before setting the mug down on the table. "Just tell me, you know, how you ended up here. There's timelines to protect."

"Okay, but thing is, it's already pretty obvious you're a..." She flutters a hand at him. "A future you."

"Ah, yes. Though if I was smart, I'd've pretended to not know you yet."

A twinkle appears in her eye and Rose hides a grin in her mug. "Wish you had, cos I woulda loved to hear your excuse for followin' me."

The Doctor blinks, stares, and then cracks a smile. "Fair point." He clears his throat. "Anyway. How did you get to this planet, Rose?"

"I have this...this device. 'S called a-"

"Dimension cannon," he finishes softly.

Her face blooms with hope. "So I did it, then? I found you?"

The Doctor nods slowly, having already determined he can't keep this from her. It's pointless to try, really, since she's clever enough to figure out that his very existence in future means she must have succeeded.

An elated Rose is half out of her chair, looking like she's ready to hug him again, when all at once the light goes out of her. "So where am I, then?" she asks bluntly. "Why aren't I with you?"

The Doctor tenses. "Sorry, but that question's off limits. You know you can't ask about your own future."

"I found you," she says again, sinking back down, "but I'm not with you now. Sort of narrows things down, yeah? Either you didn't want me anymore, or... I'm dead."

"Rose," he says, eyes pleading with her. It's neither of those, but he can't tell her the truth. Risks to the timeline aside, it's just too barmy to be believed. Even for them.

(Though even if he could explain it, he won't risk her wrath.)

Her thick lashes fall and she stares at the table, swallowing. And then, to his dismay, two fat tears splash onto its smooth wood surface.

"Hey, hey, okay, so you're not with me now," he blurts out. "But that doesn't mean you _weren't._ It doesn't mean things turned out badly."

He replays it in his mind as she glances up, eyes damp but definitely brighter, and really, was it the worst thing to say? Okay, he's misleading her, but she did end up with a version of him. It isn't an all-out lie.

"Was I with you when you regenerated?" Rose mumbles the question around the tip of her thumb, and it's clear she knows she's prodding boundaries. He knows he shouldn't answer. But, he won't really be telling her her future. Her destiny lies elsewhere, in an alternate world with an alternate him. And Rose will probably (he hopes) always wonder, maybe even worry, where this him ended up. What harm would it do, to enlighten her a little?

"Yes," he finally says. "Well, technically. I spent my last moments with you, but it didn't happen right in front of you that time. I knew it was going to be a bad one, and oh, it was. Totally destroyed the inside of the TARDIS. But afterward I, ah, I was pretty again. Ta for that, by the way."

"Wait, so you've regenerated _twice_ since-" Rose clatters her cup down, and a few tea droplets speckle the table.

"Oh, so when I say pretty boy, you assume I don't mean this me?" says the Doctor, crossing his arms. "Rude."

Rose opens her mouth, closes it again, and shakes her head. "You are impossible. At least some things never change."

The Doctor smirks. "My turn. From the looks of it, you've been living here awhile, Ms. Peacekeeper. Nice job landing that gig, by the way," he adds, and Rose grins. "But I'm assuming something's gone wrong with your dimension cannon?"

"Yeah, the battery burned out," she says with a sigh, drawing a finger through the drops of spilt tea. "Been here about seven months, trying to fix it, but there's hardly any decent tech on this planet. I've tried the power cells they use for the communicators and cameras, but neither is even close to strong enough."

"Seven months?" The Doctor is genuinely shocked. "But, I've been here six. Why haven't I seen you before?"

"Was livin' in a different village. Just got assigned here last week, and I fought coming, cos I had friends and things, but then I thought maybe I'd find something that'd work for the cannon-" Cutting off, Rose tilts her head, brows pinching. "Wait, why've you been here so long?"

A slow grin creeps across his face. "Didn't I mention? The TARDIS is at the bottom of the lake."

Rose's eyes pop wide, and she gapes at him. "The _holy_ lake?"

Delighted by her reaction, his grin widens. "Only lake on this planet, so I suppose so."

Rose continues to gape, and then her laugh rings out. "Oh my god, do you have any clue how much I've missed you?" she says, and it's like a sunbeam, the brilliant, bright smile she dazzles him with, and oh, whatever fallout might come from this accidental little reunion, it's worth it. "So how'd you manage that?"

The Doctor finds he can't answer right off, his throat is too tight. Being all sentimental again, no doubt. Taking up his mug, he stares into it, swirling his tea before he sips a few times.

"Not sure," he says at last. "The TARDIS was acting up, and I meant to land at the Gaspra asteroid to pick up a few parts. Ended up here by accident, and when I reset the coordinates, hoping to hit Gaspra this time, the TARDIS refused to dematerialise, and flung herself over a mountain or two before she shut down entirely. Directly over the lake."

Rose shakes her head in disbelief, still grinning. "How deep is she?"

"Quite," he says, wrinkling his nose. "Deep enough that I needed a breather to make it to the surface. Then that shorted out too. Needs rewiring, and the only tech I've come across that are built sturdily enough to use for parts are those little communicators. It's taken me ages to save for one."

He pulls the newly purchased device from his pocket, pries the back open with his thumbnail, and smiles at the length of black-coated wire wrapped round and round its battery. He holds it up for her to see. "Think this'll do. Thanks for that, by the way."

"Well, I'm loaded," says Rose immediately. "I can buy anything we might need. But why've you been so short on funds?"

"Oh, seems like no matter the planet, teaching doesn't pay much."

"What, you've been doing an assigned job?"

He leans back in his chair, feigning bafflement at her question. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Dunno," she replies, with a slight eye-roll, "for some reason I figured you'd just flash the psychic paper at the bank. What, is scrupulous honesty a new quirk of yours or something?"

Smiling blandly, he pokes a hand into his inner coat pocket, finds the brown wallet and tosses it to her. "I tried. Didn't go so well."

Rose flips it open, and squints. "It looks like a pay-sheet, for two-hundred obols. But- why is it backwards?"

"Don't know. Weird, isn't it?"

"Maybe there's something about this place that makes things short out," she says wisely, handing it back.

"Might be. That's one of my top theories, too."

"Look at you," comments Rose, leaning back in her chair and smoothing her dress over her knees. "Working a job, saving money. Bet you're going spare."

"Not really. It's been sort of...nice. I've always liked teaching. Good group of kids, too."

"Oh, that's right! At the shop, I heard that girl call you 'Professor'," she remembers, chuckling. "So what classes do you teach? Not physics again?"

"No," he replies with a wry smile, "that's a bit beyond this lot. And anyway, I'm sure you've noticed that the way of life around here is very similar to, say, the old pioneer days in America. It's like an Amish community, if the Amish had their own planet. The Professor thing is meant as a joke. I just teach generalised classes like any other teacher. Mostly."

"Mostly, huh?" Rose fusses with the white fabric draped over her shoulder, eyeing him thoughtfully, and he wonders if she'll press him for more. Part of him wants her to, if he's honest. It would be lovely to talk to someone who'll understand what he's been trying to accomplish here, introducing these people to the joys of the arts. Someone who'll be proud of him, who'll cheer him on.

But her mind has taken another path. "So, are you a known associate of any dinner ladies, by chance?"

"Dinner ladies? I teach in a six-room schoolhouse; of course they don't-" It sinks in then, what she's referring to, and he cuts off, feeling foolish. Blast, he's slow on the uptake with the inside jokes. "Why? Are you tired your prestigious, well-paying job already?"

_There,_ he thinks when she snorts derisively, _not a bad comeback. Not at all._

Then again, is he still missing something? Rose is looking at him -studying him- over the rim of her cup, like she's still waiting on his real answer, and she's trying to puzzle him out.

He stares back, bringing his own cup to his lips as he thinks over her question again. "Oh- you want to know if I have a companion here with me," he states bluntly. "I don't, but that's all I'm saying on the subject. It's not safe to reveal more, no matter how much you'd like a clue as to how long it's been since I've last seen you."

It comes out a bit sharper than he means it to and Rose scowls at him. "I just want to know if you've been okay, Doctor, god. It's not like I'm asking to read your diary or something. It's just, you have no idea how worried-"

She takes a breath, eyes skittering away briefly. "Do you know that this is the second time I've run into you on a jump?"

"What, really?" he asks, frowning. "Was it before we met or something? Did I have to forget it?"

"Not 'forget'," she hedges, gaze turning suspicious. "There's another reason why you won't recall seeing me, though. An' if I really did stay with you again for any length of time, there's no way I wouldn't have told you about it."

The Doctor scrunches his face up, sure she's caught him out, and then, a flash. Not of Rose but of a deeply-concerned Donna, plus a long, uncomfortable, soul-baring chat. "You mean when I... in the aborted reality."

"I mean when you _died._ When you just let yourself die, because you were alone."

"No," he automatically contradicts. "It was because-" he bites off the rest of it, all the stupid words he is _not_ going to say. Or think, even.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he says, and nearly reaches for her hand before he thinks better of it. "But that wasn't me, not really. So please remember this, if you remember nothing else from this little peek into my future- I'm _fine._ I travel, muck about, get up to all sorts of trouble. Same old Doctor."

Rose considers him, pinky denting her chin. "But that's what makes all this so hard, you know? I've been searching for ages, and now you're here, and I don't care how old you are now, I care about you. So yes, I'm dying to know what's happened and where I am and all that, but I know I can't. I have to settle for knowing you're alright. That's all I get, so I refuse to just take your word for it, Doctor. I know you too well."

Straightening up, she fixes him in a firm stare. "So, guess I'm not leaving this planet till I see for myself that you're really okay."

An unanticipated thrill zips up his spine, and he quashes it by glaring at her. "You don't get to make that choice. I don't belong in your timeline; even this, us sitting here together, is risky. You can't make decisions based off emotion, Rose. Sometimes it's best to just not get involved."

The Doctor blinks when Rose laughs at him. "Oh my god, like you can talk. You're the one who followed me! And risky or not, you did it anyway, even though you know I end up getting back safely. All because there was a slight chance I might need your help."

She's so delightfully wrong about the last bit that he hastens to agree. "Okay, fine, you've got me. But I'm the one who's the Time Lord, you know. I might've also seen a blip in the timelines."

"Yeah, sure," she retorts, laughing at him again. "More like, you were _also_ just bein' nosy."

He smiles, liking the new spin she's put on things. Yes, that's why he's here, drinking in her laughter and smiles and attention, feeling like he might float right out of his chair. Because he's a nosy old sod.

"Full disclosure, though," Rose goes on, her smile turning mischievous. "When I asked about a possible companion, I wasn't trying to figure out how long it's been since you and me. Cos thing is...I'd already sort of guessed."

"What?" Startled, he begins a rather panicked play by play of their conversation in his head. "How?"

"Easy," she says, leaning forward on elbows and gazing up at him with warm, knowing dark eyes. "Can't be all that long, or you wouldn't still care this much. Don't think you'd be sitting here if I was only a distant memory."

The Doctor swallows, having no idea how to respond to that. And then Rose yawns, and he notices the vines in her hair have wilted slightly.

"It's late," he says, glancing at his watch. "I should go."

"Why?" She frowns. "You could stay. I have a second bedroom and everything. It's pitch black outside, and it's a long walk back to the village."

"Oh, I'll be fine." He brushes it off, because staying sounds like a lovely idea and that's precisely why he shouldn't do it. "Class starts early. But I'll, ah, meet you afterward? Sometime late afternoon. I'll take a good look at that cannon of yours to see what it needs."

"Yeah, alright." Rose sounds profoundly disappointed.

Sliding his chair back, he gets up to go. "Goodnight, Rose."

She stands too, wavering, and then rushes at him in a blur. "I missed you," she tells him again as she hugs him tight, face buried in his chest, and, oh god, is she breathing him in? His hearts speed, his own arms wrap around her, and his impulse is to clutch her even tighter, bury his nose in her hair.

It scares him so much that he jerks away.

Rose lets him go, cheeks pink with embarrassment. "Um, for the record, it's a good thing you found me, yeah?" she comments over-lightly, as if she's not quite sure if he's going to agree. "I was beginning to think I was gonna be stuck here forever."

It clicks then. Why he ended up in that shop today, why he followed Rose home against his better judgment. Might even be why he's been trapped here on this planet. The Doctor was meant to be there, to cross paths with Rose, so he can fix her cannon and send her away, again. That's his job, isn't it? Time's grossly-undercompensated repairman.

"Don't worry," he replies as he backs toward the door, hoping he doesn't sound as bitter as he feels. "We'll have things set to rights before you know it and you'll be off again. Back to saving the universe."

Rose goes quiet, and does not return his sorry attempt at a smile. Her dark eyes are soft and sad, full of far, _far_ too much understanding.

It's something else he's forgotten about her, how she could always see right through him.

"Doctor, is it...is it hard for you to see me?"

Her teeth gnaw her bottom lip and then he knows, despite her earlier teasing, she's still assuming she went and died on him. She is blaming herself for what he is now. This curt, grey, gloomy old man.

"No, Rose Tyler," he assures immediately, and he means it from the bottom of his heart. "It's an absolute joy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins. ;)


	3. Chapter 3

So, I'll share nothing post-Crucible, the Doctor decides, tapping the pen to his lips. Temporal repercussions may be a non-issue- Rose can't affect future events in this universe, as she won't go on living here- and that's exactly what he can't have her knowing. Rose absolutely must continue to believe his past is her future. So he needs to play the part of responsible Time Lord.

Won't be too easy, though. Ever since he strolled out her door last night he's felt like someone's lit a fire under him, and all these old thoughts and stories are bubbling to the surface, demanding to be voiced. Everything he's ever half-wished he could tell her about.

Well. Not _her,_ specifically. A friend. It's been too long since he's had someone to talk to, is all.

Point is, he's got to be careful, and vet things properly before he shares. Though before she goes, he _will_ tell her about Gallifrey's survival. Even if he's got to put a temporary neural block on the memory. Rose's future will be all the happier if his meta-crisis can be freed of that weight.

Now, pre-Crucible things, those should be fairly safe. So Martha gets a green-light, and Donna-

"Knock knock, Professor!" a girlish voice sings out in his empty classroom, and the Doctor starts, jabs his chin with the pen. Irritation follows the adrenaline-jolt when his eyes land on Mali's wide grin- she's enjoying his reaction a bit too much as she approaches his desk, her little imp friend, Anedee, at her side.

"I would prefer it if you'd actually knock," he grouses, though he's mostly annoyed with himself. Some Time Lord he is, letting people catch him off-guard like that. He makes a dismissive gesture. "Or better yet, stay outside for the entire recess like you're supposed to. I'm busy."

Mali folds her arms, unbothered by his stroppy tone. "Yeah, busy staring out the window. Ane and I watched you for half a minute and you didn't even notice us."

"That's because it was better that than staring at this rubbish," he shoots back, gesturing to the untidy stack of maths papers he's (only) halfway through grading. "Simple geometry problems. I give you people a whole morning to work on them, and it's like you don't even try."

"I tried," says Mali matter-of-factly. "I want to learn all the maths, so I can design my own house someday, like you said. Something different, something better than small and square."

"She's going to build a house like Thornfield Hall," Anedee adds, fluffy yellow curls bouncing as she nods.

"Ambitious," the Doctor mumbles, gaze falling to his papers as old, musty guilt sneaks up on him. _Something better._ Rose's words, the ones she'd always use to explain her intent to spend her life traveling with him. A life he deprived her of, without really giving her a choice in the matter. What if she isn't as happy as he-

The Doctor shakes himself. Of course she's happy. She has to be.

"-have all my friends live there too," Mali is saying, as he glances back up, "and we'll take care of it together, I wouldn't want servants and things. But anyway, I didn't come in to talk about that. I brought you something."

"Oh?" Brows lifting in interest, he straightens as Mali sets her knit bag on his desk. She opens it, taking out a small parcel wrapped in a snowy white cloth.

"You forgot your lunch again," she says reproachfully as she hands it to him.

"I don't forget," he contradicts, unbinding a corner to eagerly liberate what he knows will be a generous square of delicious cornbread, moist and sweet. "I just don't happen to need feeding every few hours, unlike some people."

He punctuates his statement by taking a huge bite, and the girls grin. "So you're saying that next time I should let Kenna have it?" Mali asks.

"Now that, that would be a waste of your mother's hard work." Tsking, the Doctor rests the bread on the cloth, brushing crumbs off his fingers. "Of course, I might _like_ to eat more often if Foster sold anything half as good as this at his shop."

"Someone should teach you to bake," Ane says. "Then you could make your own."

The Doctor feigns offense. "I can bake, I've won baking _competitions,_ you think I can get to be this age without such a basic life skill? I merely lack the time and inclination."

"Wouldn't have this problem if you'd hurry up and find a new wife," says Mali, a sly tilt to her mouth. Local opinion is quite disapproving of his continued unmarried state, and she knows how he enjoys thumbing his nose at it.

"Oh?" replies the Doctor, tapping his chin as he lets his eyes gleam at her. "You think I'd be better off?"

Ane has a funny look on her face. "Of course you would," she blurts out, like she can't believe he's so dense. "And you'll have no problem finding someone, my mother says half the widows in town have their eye on you because there's hardly any other men their age who-"

"How's that drawing assignment coming along?" The Doctor peers down his nose at her. "Yours is one I've been looking forward to seeing. Also one of the few that hasn't been turned in yet."

"It's...almost finished," Ane replies, sharing a worried look with Mali. "It was harder than I expected, drawing an imaginary person, since I couldn't decide on silly things like his hair-colour."

"So then I suggested no hair," Mali tacks on, "which is what gave her the idea. So it's my fault if you don't like-"

"Of course I like it," he says impatiently. "Or I will, if I ever get to see it."

Hurrying to her desk, Ane takes out a sheet of thick paper, which she hands to him. It's as well done as he expects, an exceptionally realistic portrait of a man clad in the way that is common here, plain buttoned shirt and trousers. But then the Doctor sees that what he's first taken to be a long beard, is, in fact, tentacles.

"An Ood!" he exclaims. "He's bald and everything, Ane. You've got him just right!"

"I modeled him on my dad, a little," she says in a tone of admission, like she's still certain something about this will disappoint him.

"That's fine, dear, lots of artists and writers model their characters on real people." Pleased as can be, the Doctor beams at her, till Anedee's return smile is real.

The door rattles, swings open, and the head teacher, Lina Queras, swoops into the room as if she owns it. "Oh, Dr. Smith," she exclaims. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know you were meeting with students over noon."

"Can I help you, Lina?" The Doctor conjures up a smile, paints on a layer of charm. It's a rather thin layer, but the woman, as usual, eats it up, smiling back as she tucks a loose lock of hair back into its dark, neat coiff. Ms. Queras is at least forty, looks much younger, and is attractive apart from the steeliness in her eyes and the set of her mouth. Her life's mission is to put everybody on the straight and narrow, he'd discovered early on.

Well, that, and land her next husband.

"Yes, yes," she says, skirts swishing as she approaches. "My class is beginning the biography on Tess Rockford this afternoon, but I seem to be a copy or two short. Do you have any extras that I can borrow?"

Nodding, the Doctor points at the case full of books she's barely avoided tripping over on her way to his desk, but she's not paying him any mind. She's too busy frowning down at Ane's drawing. "What is that?"

"Art," he states, with a touch of condescension. "We're working with charcoals this week. I have some very talented students, yes?"

He turns warm eyes on the two girls, but they look less than reassured.

A sound of disagreement erupts from Ms. Queras' throat. "That is not a person. It looks like...like an evil monster."

The Doctor fights a smile. What a ridiculous statement; Rose would kill herself laughing if she could hear. "No. Not evil. Just look at his eyes, how soft they are. And who says you have to be human to be a person?"

Ms. Queras meets his eyes for a moment and slowly smiles, undoubtedly taking the mirth she sees there to mean he's joking. "Well, I suppose this...thing...is neither evil nor peaceful, as it is only a drawing, Dr. Smith. Though I don't understand the purpose of this exercise. Surely your students should be spending time on something more practical, like agriculture or the code of law?"

"Noble pursuits," the Doctor agrees, taking up his pen. "Necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love? These are what we stay alive for."

The head teacher gazes at him blankly before her expression softens. For a moment the Doctor is pleased to think she's gotten the point, until he sees how bright her eyes are and it hits him. No, she hasn't. She's zeroed in on the part she liked hearing, the 'romance' part, taking it as, ugh, flirting. When he meant it as vital truth, quoted from one of his favourite films.

Sighing, the Doctor dismisses the girls with a wave to the door and they both scurry toward it gratefully, though Mali looks like she wants to laugh.

"I'll leave you to it, then," says Ms. Queras reluctantly, after a long minute of him ignoring her, studiously grading papers.

He nods without looking up, and is relieved to hear the door click shut a moment later. Ane's drawing catches his eye and he picks it up, proud of how far outside of the box she'd dared venture. Especially since she's a timider sort, an eager people pleaser unlike the more defiant Mali.

"'Evil monster'," he repeats, snorting as he slips the artwork between books in his bag. Humans. So quick to judge because it's easier than thinking. And the irony of it is, Ood-kind would be so appreciated here, all hardworking and kind and helpful. And so, so peaceable.

This train of thought circles, derails, and the Doctor sucks a breath, clapping a hand over his pocket. That booklet of war songs. The disturbing little anomaly is buried deep in his coat, but still, how has he not thought of it once since he found it yesterday?

Okay. He knows why. It's because of the _other_ little anomaly he'd found straight after. He has to admit she's consumed his thoughts.

Worries over that rise up, but he stifles them as the bell begins to clang. Temporally displaced book versus temporally displaced Rose? The book's probably rift rubbish, whereas if he doesn't get Rose back to her Torchwood, the universe will end. And that's a pressing matter if he ever heard one.

********

The afternoon ticks by tedious and slow, and the Doctor is off like a shot at the last bell. Home isn't far, but he's out of breath as he rushes in the front door. Where could she be? Rose wasn't waiting outside the school, he didn't spot her anywhere on the main road, and now he has no idea where to start looking. Stupid of him, making plans to meet her without designating a meeting place.

(Extra-stupid is the panicky knot in his gut, the one that insists she's either left the planet, or was never here at all. Maybe he dreamed the whole encounter up. Wouldn't be the first time.)

Lost in that swirl of thought, he strides into the lounge, thunks his satchel down onto the polished wood floor, and gasps in surprise when sudden movement catches his eye.

"Sorry," mumbles Rose from where she's sprawled out on his sofa, blinking blearily at him as she struggles partially upright. "Didn't mean to fall asleep."

Her hair is mussed, white dress rumpled, her cheeks rosy from sleep and the warm sunlight which floods the room. She looks adorably out of sorts, yet she doesn't seem the least bit embarrassed that he's caught her like this. Looking so... so vulnerable. Like she's used to this sort of thing with him, a level of comfort and trust that comes from years of close companionship.

Because she is used to it. A half-handful of years separated? It's nothing, as he well remembers. It hadn't the power to put the smallest dent in what they'd had between them, and when they'd been reunited to bring the stars back, they'd both known it. Were so certain that they'd dashed madly toward each other without the slightest doubt.

Rose can't possibly understand how being reunited feels for him now. If he's honest, he doesn't really know how it feels, himself. He's spent lifetimes without her, but he can't tell her that. He can't tell her how they've changed him.

(Though there's no doubt she can see it, a bit. He's as jumpy as a cat.)

A smile appears at one corner of her mouth, and- blast, she's caught him staring. "Aren't you gonna ask me how I found your house?" Rose sounds pleased to have the upper hand, even though she's only half awake.

The Doctor collects himself, clears his throat. "Well, I would, but I have a few more important questions to ask first. Like, why are you in my house? Sleeping, no less? Have you also eaten my food and broken my chairs, Miss Goldilocks?"

Rose wrinkles her nose. "Please tell me this isn't your bed." Wincing a little, she stretches and swings her feet to the floor. "I've slept in alleyways that are more comfortable."

"Alleyways?" he repeats, dismayed. "Rose-"

"Your neighbor was watching me," she explains, gesturing to the west window. A house is visible a short distance off, half hidden by trees. "That's why I came inside. She was peeking out through her curtains and things, like every other minute, the whole time I was waiting on your doorstep."

He can't help but grin a little at that. "Ah, that'll be Mrs. Dewey. Old hen, it probably made her week to see a Peacekeeper sitting outside my door. You'd've done better to not break in though, if you were worried about neighborhood gossip. She's likely in a fever by now, wondering what sort of trouble I'm in."

Rose's smile turns wicked. "Well then, mission accomplished."

The Doctor's not sure if it's the quip or the grin or the mischief in her eyes that gets him, but it startles out a laugh that is loud enough to carry. "Rose Tyler," he admonishes, and though those three syllables come out so sharp and Scottish now, they still feel amazing as they roll off his tongue. "I forgot how _terrible_ you are."

"You love it," she hurls back, with a bewitching amount of tongue in her grin. It steals away his ability to think, he finds all he can do is stare. His eyes lock on hers and his hearts speed and he _needs to respond_ but he's fumbling, like the interaction is too complex for him, like he's some sweaty-palmed, socially-stunted teenager instead of a Time Lord.

The moment stretches too long, becomes too intense. Rose finally breaks off eye-contact by glancing at her lap.

_Good one, Doctor, now you've gone and made it awkward._

Her lashes fan dark against deeply flushed cheeks… oh, she's _blushing_. His own face heats as it hits him- good lord, she probably thinks he was making eyes at her.

Although, Rose may look flustered but she's not displeased, and the stretched-out silence isn't "awkward" so much as it's... _tense._ Some of his old confidence returns, and he straightens his lapels. Huh. Maybe he's still got it.

The Doctor scratches the back of his head. "Ehm...how did you find my cottage, by the way? I never did tell you my alias."

Her eyes snap back to his. "Right," she drawls, smirking. "Doctor John Smith. Who ever would've guessed."

"Okay, okay, no call for sarcasm. For your information, I tried using another name but-" All at once he pauses, foreseeing how this conversation is going to turn out, and flinches.

"Never mind, I was lying just now. It's always John Smith, you're right. I never get clever with it. Now," he claps his hands together, "did you bother to bring that cannon of yours along or-"

"Oh, now he doesn't want to say what name," Rose comments as she gets to her feet, already giggling. "There's a story here."

"No, no story, I just didn't want you thinking I was boring-"

Rose is giving him a once-over with frighteningly knowing eyes. "I'm thinking you tried going with… Houdini," she declares. "You've got a sort of magician thing going on, don't you, though m'not so sure you look much like a Harry-"

"Oi, what? I did _not._ Stop guessing."

"No, wait, I've got it!" she laughs out, pointing at him. "David Copperfield, ha! That's perfect for you, a magician's name and a Dickens book all rolled into one!"

The Doctor sighs but he can't help but smile at her, all vibrant and beautiful and tickled to be winding him up. "Ah, it was nothing so clever, I'm afraid," he tells her. "It was...Disco. Doctor John Disco. I like that one these days. It's cool."

"But…?"

"But, problem is, they don't have a word for disco here. Didn't translate well."

He watches Rose's grin grow as she waits for the punchline, and all at once he doesn't mind delivering it.

"Don't get your hopes up; it's not that funny. But anyway," he clears his throat, "there's a couple people round here who still think my name is John Gyrater."

Rose bursts into giggles and he joins in, the sound of their laughter filling the small cottage. "Oh my god," she wheezes, beginning to gyrate her hips in a slow circle, more silly than sensual (thankfully). "I love it. I only wish I had been there."

"I'm glad you weren't," he chuckles. "I'm sure you wouldn't have let me change it."

"Um, no."

They're both still laughing as they make themselves comfortable on the couch, facing each other, and it's like magic, how it's relaxed him. Well, not magic- it's just Rose being Rose. Lightening things up whenever he got too dark, too tense. It was part of how she made him better, and it should probably scare him to find that it still works on him, after all this time.

But that's stupid. He's simply enjoying her company. Rose has always stood out in his mind as one of the easiest people in the multiverse to be around.

"So," Rose says, tucking her legs underneath her, "what's our plan? Fetch the TARDIS first, and then you'll have what you need to fix my cannon?"

"Well, I haven't looked at your cannon yet, but that sounds reasonable."

"And how far is the lake from here?"

"Far enough, I suppose. Maybe two hours hike."

"We'll have to get an early start, then," says Rose with a nod. "Think you can fix your breather tonight?"

"Yes," the Doctor replies slowly. "But fetching the TARDIS will have to wait a bit, since I have classes to teach for the next three days."

"Classes?" she echoes, frowning. "But why does that matter?"

The Doctor blinks, then understands. "Ah, you think I'm going stir-crazy. That I plan to flee this planet at first opportunity."

"Aren't you?"

"No. Like I mentioned yesterday, I'm enjoying teaching. I'm helping those kids, Rose. I've deviated far away from the usual curriculum and...okay, so have you noticed there's only the simplest of the arts here? Like, they'll paint scenery and portraits but nothing abstract, nothing whimsical-"

"I know," she agrees with a vehement nod, eyes gleaming with understanding and fun. "The music is awful, just a few old folk songs passed down for generations. God, I had the best time teaching my friends some Britney."

The Doctor almost chokes. "You didn't."

Grinning, Rose hums a bit of the chorus of _Oops I Did It Again_ and it sets them both off, and a good two minutes pass before they stop laughing enough to continue the conversation.

"Anyway," says the Doctor, "some of my kids, they love it, getting their first taste of literature, trying out the creative arts. So yes, I'm eager to get the TARDIS from the lake, but mostly because there's things on board that I could really use in class, books and paints and other supplies and such. Also, a few changes of clothes would be nice," he adds wryly, smoothing down his black coat.

Rose's eyes on him are warm and soft, but contemplative. "So after I go back, you're still gonna stay here awhile?"

"Yes," he affirms, though as the word comes out, the idea has lost a bit of its shine.

"Okay," she says, with a small smile. "I think that's lovely. Just as long as you're doing it to help, cos you like it. And not cos you're avoiding something."

"I don't avoid things."

Rose worries her lip, doubtful. "Yeah, alright. Still, I won't mind being around here for awhile, keep an eye on you. Got a few loose ends to tie up anyway."

A thought occurs to him. "Rose, what does your team think has happened to you?"

"They're not worried. Whether I'm gone hours or days or months, it's all the same to them. Flash out, few minutes later, flash in. Till now, the longest I've ever been stuck anywhere is a couple days."

Warmth fills the Doctor. She's in no rush to leave, and it's because of _him_. She's enjoying this stolen time together, as much as he is. And he can't resist pushing it, just a little, just to see how she reacts. "So, 'loose ends'?" he prods, a purposeful note of disbelief in his voice, and feels a little thrill when her gaze skips away. "Like what?"

Rose shrugs, eyes traveling the length of the smooth floorboards. "Assignments, and things. Gotta check up on that merchant..." Her gaze falls to her bag on the floor, and she licks her lips like she's debating something before she meets his eye again.

All her hesitancy and wariness drive him mad with curiosity. "What else, Rose?" he asks, and barely manages to temper the blaze of intensity this form has such a propensity for.

She draws a breath. "Promise you'll be nice."

Before he can react to that baffling statement, she reaches down to her soft knit bag and widens the opening. The Doctor leans forward, squinting at the small, fuzzy grey ball lying inside. His jaw drops when he sees the thing is breathing.

"That- that's a wild creature, Rose! What's it doing there, in your bag?"

"I've had him for months," she says defensively, planting both feet on the floor so her gown blocks his view of the creature, like she expects the Doctor to spring forward and grab it or something. "Almost the whole time I've been here. I saved him- found him on my doorstep during a storm, cold and wet and scared. I tried to let him go, later, but he just sat outside and cried. He likes me."

"Of course he does; you've been feeding him, no doubt," the Doctor grumbles, but with lips curved up to show her he doesn't mean it. Much. "What is it?"

"Dunno. He's the only one I've ever seen."

The Doctor kneels to get a closer look, and Rose obligingly moves her legs. The little animal stirs, yawns, but does not open its eyes. Long-bodied, it is sleekly built like a cat, fur silky soft and thick, from its stub of a tail to its long, rabbit-like ears. "Ah, it's a haigha," he determines, having seen a photo of one in a book, early on in his tenure teaching here. "Fairly rare, that. What're you calling him?"

Pursing her lips, Rose fights off a smile. "Rickey."

It takes him a few blinking seconds to get the joke, and then he laughs. "You're kidding."

"Cos he was all, I dunno, nervous and needy and clingy and things, when I first found him. Reminded me of how Mickey used to be, when I was first traveling with you. Anyway, he's used to being taken care of now, I can't just, you know, leave him in the forest to fend for himself. I'll need to find someone to take him."

The Doctor's hands fly up, and Rose levels him with a look. "Oh please, like I'd even think to ask you. You're not stayin' here either, and anyway, I've gotten a good look at your cupboards. Seems like you can hardly take care of yourself; why would I subject a poor little animal to that?"

"So you've been snooping, have you?" he retorts, to hide a sudden flash of anxiety. She's right about his cupboards- it's nearly dinner time, and he's got nothing decent in to feed her. Meals are just not something he bothers much with these days.

"Good thing I brought food," she says, apparently reading his mind. "Just don't expect too much. M'not much of a cook."

"Like I need telling that. Think it'll be a few centuries, at least, till I forget the taste of that horrid apple pie you tried making for us."

Rose's laugh rings out, her eyes big with mock outrage, and she gives him a good whack on his bicep.

"Ow!" he complains, rubbing it, but he's chuckling as he follows her into the kitchen.

A paper bag sits on his small table, a loaf of bread poking out of the top of it, but it's what lies beside it that catches his interest; a largish yellow medallion on a looped cord. The Doctor recognises it immediately.

"Was wondering when I'd get a chance to look at this," he says, scooping up the dimension cannon and turning it over curiously. "Has it ever shorted out on you like this before?"

"Nope."

At her short answer, he glances her way, sees her arms are crossed like she's half expecting a lecture.

Well, she's right to. Yes, her hopping is beyond courageous, and she will save the universe, but that doesn't mean the sight of the blasted thing doesn't fill his belly with dread. "And what would you have done if I'd not come along to help?"

"Fixed it eventually," she replies, beginning to empty the bag. Bread, cheese, vegetables. "Just like I've fixed every other issue it's had."

The Doctor glances at her sharply, but bites back the questions that spring to his tongue. He wants to know about every bad jump, every failure, every time it's dared to let her down. But he also _doesn't._

(Besides, why is this bothering him so much? Rose will be safe, it all turns out fine.)

"I don't doubt that in the slightest," is all that he says, and when she smiles it was worth it to drop the subject.

He slides out his screwdriver and, with a burst of sound and flash of blue, uses it to pop the cannon's back panel open.

"Oh, that's new!" exclaims Rose in delight, snatching the sonic from his fingers before he sees her coming. "It's gorgeous, the way the tip lights up in a sequence. I suppose it has some new features?"

"Five-hundred at least, Rose Tyler. Like I'd update my sonic for aesthetics alone."

"Sure you wouldn't," she teases, handing it back. "This one's a lot bigger, yeah? I'm glad you kept the blue. Matches your eyes again."

"Ha, perhaps that's why my last one was green-tipped," he replies before he thinks better of it, and then winces. Not looking at her, he sinks onto a chair as he carefully pries the power-cell from the hopper.

"So, you _have_ regenerated at least twice since I've seen you."

He can't tell if it's a question or a statement, can't decide if he should reply. So he flicks the sonic on again, scanning the battery to see what's wrong.

The results utterly baffle him. "Where'd you get this?" he asks, holding the power-cell up. "From a shop somewhere around here?"

Rose frowns. "Course not, it's a Torchwood special design."

The Doctor scans it again, just to be sure. "Someone's swapped it for a fake," he tells her, when the reading doesn't change. "Instead of zinc and manganese dioxide, this is made mostly of calcium phosphate- that's _bone_ , Rose. Probably animal," he quickly adds, at her shocked look. "But point is, it's not real."

On a whim, he runs the sonic over the rest of the dimension cannon. "And neither is the rest of it."


	4. Chapter 4

“Well, that’s stupid,” Rose dismisses after a few beats. “There’s got to be something wrong with your screwdriver, is all.” Turning away, she lifts the loaf of bread to her nose and inhales deeply.

Affronted, the Doctor tightens his grip on the sonic. “There is _not._ ”

“Is,” she contradicts with a smile. “Either that, or someone on this planet has stolen my dimension cannon, for who knows what possible reason, and replaced it with a perfect-looking fake one which they somehow grew. Is that the story you’d rather go with? Especially when we already know that there’s something about this place that shorts out alien tech?”

“Suppose I haven’t used it much since I’ve been here,” he admits grudgingly, pocketing his screwdriver as he watches Rose set the bread on the cutting board and slide open a top drawer. “But still. I’m going to have the TARDIS run a scan on that hopper. That’ll settle it once and for all.”

“Alright.” Unconcerned, Rose slams the drawer shut and opens a lower one. “Where’s your knives? I need a serrated one to slice this bread.”

“It’s already out, right there on the bench-top.”

“Ta.”

An easy silence settles in. Rose works at the cutting board, hair grazing her cheek, lips pinched in concentration, giving the Doctor a chance to watch her uninhibitedly as she saws off a few thick, uneven slices of bread. The sight, so strange yet familiar, throws him off-kilter. It is not how he wants to feel. “You’re certainly taking it well,” he comments, hoping some conversation will snap him out of it.

“Taking what well?” Rose glances his way. “Do you think it’s too warm to get a fire going in the cookstove? This bread’s sorta dry; the sandwiches’d be better fried.”

He nods, going to grab handfuls of wood and kindling from the box beside the stove. “I mean, I just told you your ticket home is essentially rubbish, and you aren’t even bothered,” he says. “What if my sonic is right?”

Rose shrugs and opens a cabinet, takes out a couple of plates. “Well, what’s it matter? I get back, we already know that. Maybe we just build a new hopper with tech from the TARDIS or something.”

Stepping back from the cookstove, the Doctor aims his sonic at the neat pile of kindling he’s arranged inside. It bursts into flame and he makes a pleased, triumphant sound. “See? Works perfectly.”

Rose laughs, shaking her head. “So,” she says, taking a knife to the half-wheel of cheese, “I got called out to a dispute west of town today. It’s so much hillier here than the area I lived in before, it's crazy. Think I might need to get a horse.”

“What? Don't you already have too many pets for a person who's not planning to stay here?”

“Ha, very funny. I mean rent one, is all. There's stables in town, yeah?”

“Yeah. I can show you where, if you’d like. Tricky to find.” The fire is burning nicely, and he closes the stove’s small front door to trap the heat inside. He turns to see Rose holding a half-slice of cheese his way; in her other hand is a piece with a bite out of it. The Doctor takes the offered bit with a smile, and pops the whole thing in his mouth as he joins her at the cutting board to help put the sandwiches together.

“Why do they have horses and cows here, do you think?” she asks, their upper arms almost touching as he butters bread. “I mean, it’s an alien planet, and most of the animals are alien species, but then there’s also some that come from Earth.”

“Because the people are human. You lot bring all sorts things from home, when you finally migrate cross the cosmos.”

“ _Are_ they human, though?”

The Doctor glances at her sidelong, meets her gaze. Rose’s eyes are questioning but luminous, full of sweet, open adoration that’s all for him. It steals his breath, fills his chest with some thick emotion that he can’t name and can’t banish, not even after he forces himself to look away.

“Of course they are,” he answers gruffly, and begins to reassemble his cheese so every last millimeter of bread is covered.

“But shouldn’t they be, I dunno, advanced, if their ancestors landed actual spacecraft here?”

“Depends on what you mean by advanced. This planet’s had unbroken peace for centuries, probably since its founding, and I’d call that quite the achievement. Sure, modern conveniences are lacking, but people’s quality of life is not, for the most part, so how do we know that what we’re seeing isn’t the fulfillment of somebody’s vision? Maybe halting technological progress is part of how they did it.”

Rose hums, and he sees her nod in his peripheral. “An’ maybe that’s why creativity’s sort of stifled, too. People get along better when they think everyone’s the same as them. The ones who come up with new ideas are often fought against or regarded as weird, even when they’re brilliant.”

Admiration floods him, easing his tension. “Makes sense,” he replies warmly, smiling at her. It makes Rose blush again, and she is very pink and yellow as she stacks their sandwiches on a plate and takes it to the stove.

“Where’s your skillet?”

“They’re wrong, mind, if the first settlers really did believe any of that,” he adds, continuing the conversation as he moves to fetch a pan for her. “Art and innovation aren’t-” He sucks a breath. The lower cupboard is already part-way open, and from its dark depths golden eyes meet his, then vanish. “What the...”

Flinging the small door fully open, he scowls when he sees what it is. “Rose, your _rodent_ is in my cupboard.”

The small animal takes its sweet time exiting, disdainful yellow gaze on the Doctor, its movements fluid and cat-like. Rose scoops it up and gathers it close. “Hello, love, did you decide to wake up?” she coos, scratching round the base of the haigha’s grey rabbity ears. Its eyes squint in pleasure. “You had such a good nap today.”

The Doctor stares at her. “It was in my cupboard,” he repeats.

“Such a good sleeper, an’ so clever and cute,” she prattles on, nuzzling her nose against the fuzzy head. None of this praise is directed toward the Doctor, so he scowls harder, and yanks a skillet from the invaded cupboard. “Look at this, Rose!” he complains, holding the pan up. “Fur.”

With a slight eye-roll, Rose leans in, purses her lips, and blows. A few light hairs float up into the air. “There,” she declares. “All better.”

The twinkling look in her eye dissolves his annoyance, and he nearly laughs. But no, he can’t give in... that’s not how they play this. The Doctor huffs, and makes a show of wiping the skillet out properly. Rose’s grin warms him the entire time.

“Go ahead,” he says to the critter she’s cradling, as he clangs the pan down onto the hot stovetop. “Jump in here again, I dare you.”

“Oi, that's not very nice.” Rose pokes her tongue out at him, allowing the squirming animal to escape from her arms. “Is this you always this cranky or is it the low blood sugar talking?”

“Time Lords don't get low blood sugar,” he retorts immediately, eyes on her mouth.

“Was leanin’ more toward ‘always cranky’ anyway.”

He snorts, finding her pronouncement extra funny because of how very not-cranky he feels at this moment. In truth, he’s having more fun than the situation probably warrants, like his veins are buzzing with unmetabolised spirits- and ooh, that’s a rather splendid idea. The Doctor follows it up with another rummage through cabinets while Rose washes her hands.

“Ha!” he says, as he finds the bottle and pulls it out. “I know you’re partial to white wines, Rose, but you’ve got to try this red. It’s fantastic, locally made.”

“Oh, you like wine again?” Her eyes gleam, and her smile is soft. “I haven't had wine with you in ages.”

Eyebrows drawn, he slowly works the cork from the bottle while he tries to suss out what she’s talking about. In all his lives he’s rarely cared much for alcohol. His prior two selves had had no taste for it at all, although after the war Big Ears had developed a fondness for a good brandy or a dark-

Big Ears. Memories trigger, of soft lighting and a flickering fire, heated air scented with sweet wine and Rose’s sweeter shampoo, and leather. Leather from the sofa, because he’d always shed his jacket before they’d curl up together at the end of the day to chat, glasses in hand.

Evenings unwinding together had continued after he regenerated, but it was different, he’d always had to have a film playing or a book to read or something for his hands to do. In those days idle hands (and thoughts) were dangerous as Daleks, always wanting to fixate on a certain blonde companion-

“Guess these’ll have to do,” Rose says, and he blinks up to find her holding out two plain drinking glasses. “Unless you’d rather us use the teacups.”

“Nah, not big enough,” he replies, earning a giggle as he takes the glasses from her.

A sizzle comes from the pre-heated pan as the Doctor pours their drinks. “I actually do know how to make a perfect grilled cheese,” says Rose. “It’s the one cooking skill the you-in-leather managed to drill into my head. Remember how annoyed you’d get when I’d just drop them in a cold pan and turn the burner up to high?”

Chuckling, he mimes a shudder as he hands her a glass half-full of the ruby liquid. “Wasn’t that your method for cooking everything?”

“‘Low and slow, Rose,’” she quotes, imitating his old Northern accent (though he’s certain it was never so sultry, coming out of his mouth). “‘Low and slow.’” She sips her wine, eyelids falling in pleasure, and he eases back a few steps.

“I remember saying it. But I mostly remember you not listening,” he replies, and her laugh strikes a chord in him that he tries to drown in a long swallow of wine.

It’s rolling over him now like an avalanche, what he remembers. How that adoration in her eyes used to lift him up, never faltering even when he failed. How she always knew when to push and when not to. How brilliant she is, always seeing things that he doesn’t. Even her flaws, like the bouts of jealousy or her determined ineptitude in the kitchen, had attracted him because she unashamedly owned them. A beautiful quality he’d longed to imitate.

Yes, the Doctor remembers exactly why the lonely, broken man he used to be had fallen for Rose so hard and fast. Why things had been better with two.

His pulse speeds, as he momentarily fears that he might once again be in trouble.

He stems it with stern, chiding thought. Ridiculous. Regeneration has changed him, decades of life have wised him up, plus, he lacks the weight of mass murder on his conscience. He’s himself again. And the real Doctor is fine to go it alone. Instead of instilling a feeling of wholeness, attachments have long felt unnecessary. Superfluous. Hadn’t the whole thing with River proved that?

So he’s okay. He doesn’t need anyone, Rose included, even though he’s enjoying this time with her just as much as he feared he might. Still, it's only nostalgia, phantom feelings.

But, he has to admit. It’s definitely going to sting when she leaves.

Rose flips the sandwiches, nearly fumbling the second one right out of the pan, and giggles as she shoots him an embarrassed look over her shoulder.

The Doctor buries a smile in his wine glass. It’ll sting, but it’s worth it.

“So, are you sure they’re all human?” Rose asks later, as they linger at the table, having finished their simple meal. “Cos some of the people here live for hundreds of years.”

“Well, we don't know that. But I've heard of them too, the Ahionios. Probably no more than local legend.” Leaning back in his chair, the Doctor notices how the glowing sunset has grown fainter. Rose will have to leave soon, so she can get home before it’s too dark. He should suggest it. “Want a little more wine?”

“Sure.” Gathering up the dishes, she piles them in the sink while he fetches the wine bottle. Then Rose makes a sound of dismay. “Rickey, no!”

The Doctor whips round to find that insufferable creature perched on the table, its wiggly nose buried deep in the Doctor’s still partially full wine-glass. Shooing the thing back to the floor, he grabs the glass and pours it out.

“What’re you wasting it for?” asks Rose, frowning. “S’not like he drank any.”

“I saw him,” the Doctor declares with a sniff.

“Whatever.” She snickers. “Although, fair warning for future, you’ll want to keep an eye on your tea. He absolutely loves it.”

He can’t tell if she’s kidding.

“He gets restless, though, this time of night,” she goes on, and oh, he does not like the apologetic little nose wrinkle she’s directing toward the bottle in his hand. “Being he’s nocturnal. I...I should probably get going.”

She moves to gather her things while the Doctor looks on sadly. He almost offers to make that wretched animal its own cuppa if it means she’ll stay a bit- at least long enough for him to think of a decent excuse to see her again before their scheduled hike to the lake, three whole days from now-

Rose shoulders her bag and drops Rickey into it. “We’ll finish that bottle tomorrow night, yeah?” she states casually, after giving him a quick hug- and just like that, it’s all sorted.

The Doctor blinks, once again astounded at her brilliance. “Yes.”

  
********

  
“Oh, look!” Rose dashes ahead on the sun-dappled path, toward a small clearing that's just come into view. “Candy-floss trees! I didn't think they had these in this region. I absolutely love them!”

Grinning at her enthusiasm, the Doctor hurries to catch up. Without the woods’ leafy canopy blocking the sun, grass grows thick in the little spot, and it's cushy under his feet as he takes in the grouping of tall, slender trees. Their pinkish-purple, fluffy tops do bear a striking resemblance to spun sugar; however, he's always been a hair-splitter. “They're not ‘candy-floss’ trees, Rose, they're called-”

“Oi,” she cuts in, warningly. “It’s a perfect name.” One hand strokes a white tree-trunk as she peers upward. “You could tell me where the seeds are though, if you've got to spew facts. The last village I lived in was speckled all over with these lovely things, an’ it'd be nice to plant a few around here.”

Out of nowhere, disquiet chills him like an icy wind. “Why? You won't be here to see them grow.”

As it comes out he cringes a little, not quite sure why he sounds so snappish. It’s not as if he needs to warn Rose off of prolonging her stay. Even her clothing today is proof of that; the dark trousers and maroon tee that he remembers too well. Just add a blue leather jacket, and she’ll be ready to fade into oblivion.

“I know that, Doctor, blimey,” she says, eyes flashing. “Doesn't mean I can't do something nice, does it?” She takes a breath. “Thing is, it’s just hitting me, how we’re on our way to get the TARDIS and then I’ll have my cannon and it’s...it’s gonna be tough, you know?”

Though she doesn't spell out what she means, the Doctor nods. He does know. And he’s put it out of his mind for the most part, so thoughts of tomorrow won’t spoil today, but...he’s definitely willing to hear Rose’s exact feelings on the matter.

“Anyway,” she goes on, as he hoped she would, “maybe I just want to do a little something that, I dunno, commemorates our time here? Cos it’s...it’s been nice, yeah?”

“Very nice,” he agrees, roughly. They've had three more evenings together and they’ve made the most of them. Even with limiting himself to speaking only of the travels and friends he’d had during the short span between Canary Wharf and the Crucible, and the goings-on of his class here, he’s had plenty to share. And he’s enjoyed quizzing Rose even more, getting details on things he’s wondered about forever- her brother, her flat, her job. She’s an heiress now, she’s well cared for, with lots of people who love her. Including his meta-crisis, before long.

The Doctor is sure it’s a comfort, all that evidence he’d done right by her. That his old heartbreak was worth it.

“So you’ll help plant trees, then?” she asks, and he blinks to find her watching him with a small smile.

“Of course.” Hopping to it, he goes to her, hoping she won’t ask what he was thinking about. Together they gaze up into the web of purple, even though he knows these trees won’t seed out for months yet.

(But no matter- the Doctor will have his TARDIS back today, and he’ll be glad of it, if for no other reason than to flash forward in time to fulfill this small wish of hers.)  
  
“Not sure what I’m looking for,” he finally says. “But I’ll find out and we’ll come back for seeds another day, okay?”

Rose seems to like that answer; she smiles in agreement. Side by side they continue on, re-entering the thick woods. It’s a gorgeous gift of a day, warm with just enough breeze to make the leaves rustle like music. The Doctor rolls his shoulders, trying to relax.

Delicate, elfin wildflowers grow everywhere in thick clusters. When Rose bends to add another to her handful, the Doctor spots another bloom. It glints golden like a burning sun, star-shaped and rare. Before he thinks twice he snaps its stem.

As he presents it to Rose she gapes, then beams, and there’s nothing for it but to tuck the flower in her hair, over her right ear. It’s gold on gold perfection, and the Doctor can’t seem to look away.

He starts a little when small, warm fingers twine with his.

“I know my landing here was a coincidence,” Rose says, tugging him along (though he hardly catches the words, so distracted by the feel of their joined hands.) “I know that this version of you isn’t the one I’m meant to find, you’re not...not the right you. But then again, to me, every you is the right you, so this time we’ve had together _matters_ to me.” Her fingers clutch his tighter, and he hardly breathes as he meets her eyes. “And I will never forget it.”

Though he wants to return her sentiments, the Doctor can’t seem to speak. Just gazes at her dumbly. But when she squeezes his hand again before looking away, he knows she understands.

“But let’s talk about something else,” she goes on. “Cos it’s a beautiful day, and you and I are having an adventure. I want this to be fun.”

“You shouldn’t be so excited about this,” he tells her, finding his voice. “Even poking a finger in that lake is illegal, and it’s supposed to be your job to keep me from doing it.”

Rose leans cheekily into him. “Oh, but I do intend to arrest you once you come out.”

He feigns horror. “You wouldn’t.”

“Think about it, Doctor, you could finally prove to your students that you really are as cool you claim to be. You want ‘em to take more risks, you’ve got to set the example.”

Helping her over a huge, gnarled root, he pretends to consider this. “So what you're saying is, if I get caught breaking the biggest law short of murdering someone, my students will _all_ decide to draw me pictures of aliens?”

“Yep. An’ Mali will write an entire novel.”

The Doctor grins. “And she and Ane will join my band, and, to the delight of absolutely no one, we’ll perform Stones covers at the festival.” He thrusts one hip out, strumming air guitar with their joined hands, which gets Rose laughing helplessly.

“Can you imagine your boss’ face?!”

“Lina Queras is not my ‘boss’, she’s merely…”

“The thorn in your side?”

He nods vigorously. “That sums it up.”

The path they follow inclines sharply upward, and both go quiet for a long while as they help each other climb (really, hand-holding is so _practical_ ). “Why couldn’t you do that?” says Rose, once they plateau. “You say you love playing your guitar these days. You’re not going to teach anyone an instrument in a month’s time, but your students could sing a few new songs for the festival.”

He smiles, picturing it. “You know, Rose Tyler, that is actually a brilliant idea.”

“Just wait, I'm about to make it even better,” she says, moving a leafy branch out of their way. “Picture this: you provide fab music, I stick around long enough to teach the kids some crazy dancing, and at the festival the townspeople are all offended till they realize how amazing it is and join us. Yeah?”

“Okay, now you're just quoting me the plot of Footloose.”

They laugh. He's not sure when the switch flipped, but this day has indeed become what Rose declared she wanted- a fun adventure. And though he's loathe to analyse why, his brain automates the job anyway, wraps it up for him in a nice alliteration.

_Company, closeness, conversation._

Well. That's not so bad.

 _Chance of continuation_ pops out next, and bugger it all if that isn’t the part that's got him feeling extra-good. Rose has just hinted at her desire to stay here till the festival, an entire added month.

Would it be so terrible if he, well… lets her?

The question looms in the back of his mind for the rest of the hike, like a slow-approaching storm.

At last the lake comes into view- all turquoise-blue and glittering, against a postcard-perfect mountainous backdrop- and Rose gasps. All wonder and delight, it's a sound he's heard out of her a thousand times. It's a sound that he’s missed, one he loves. And then he knows.

No. She can't stay much longer. Because the degree with which he wants her to is warning enough against it.

“You've got to wait here, behind the tree-line,” he says, after Rose expresses her desire to explore the pebbly shore. “You're came to be look-out, right?”

“Right.” She’s biting her lip, eyeing him as he begins to take his coat off...and oh lord, oh merciful heavens. His lovely look-out is about to get an eyeful, isn’t she?

There's nothing for it though, unless he wants to plunge in fully dressed (for a second he thinks he might) and so, cheeks burning, the Doctor pulls off shoes and socks, begins to unbutton his white Oxford.

(Why, oh why, couldn't this have happened to him in his last body, so young and fit?)

Rose keeps her eyes on the lake until he hangs the shirt over a branch, now down to vest and trousers. She side-eyes him as he hesitates. _Smirks._

“Better not ruin those trousers.”

Blantantly flirtatious, it simultaneously shocks him and swells his ego up bigger than it's ever been.

“Not planning on it,” he responds, returning her saucy look. “But you'll have to earn the chance to see me in my pants.”

Stunned, Rose coughs out a laugh as she turns her back to give him privacy, and the feeling of triumph follows the Doctor straight into the lake.

The water is cold and clear. Just like the rationality that sets in again, the deeper he dives.

Him wishing to postpone their parting is bad enough, but when he adds in Rose wanting the same- it makes it a dangerous temptation. Especially since he can no longer deny that Rose finds him attractive. And much as he wants to revel in the realisation, he can't, because he understands why.

She’s in love with him.

And that's fine, he thinks to calm himself, before he overworks his breather. It's not even much of a revelation. Problem is, her love can't be spent on him. Rose has a life, a future to get back to, and the longer she stays the more it's put at risk.

So not only has she got to go, it's got to be soon. Tomorrow, even, if he can fix her hopper quick enough. Get it over with in one swift move, like ripping off a bandage that's adhered too tight.

His hearts ache, deciding it. But strangely, the Doctor also feels… displeased. Almost like he's plotting to do something unforgivably wrong.

It’s a relief when he finally sees bright blue in the murky depths. The TARDIS welcomes him like a lost child, and sends waves of comfort when she senses his inner turmoil. But what she won't do is bloody _move._

“What in blazes is wrong with you?” he gripes as he throws the dematerialization lever for the fifth time, watching the time rotor do another round of useless chugging. “You’re fine; stop being so stubborn.”

The Doctor fights with the time-ship for nearly an hour before he gives up. Rose is waiting, undoubtedly worried by now. And it's not like he needs his ship this exact second, except to scan Rose’s dimension cannon. Which he unfortunately does not have along, in his pocketless boxers.

In the end he just hurriedly stuffs a bag with everything they might need: power-cells, materials to rebuild the hopper if necessary, loads of books and art supplies and various miscellany, and his acoustic guitar.

He also packs a couple spare breathers, but his first one makes the return trip without shorting out again.

Rose spots him as he staggers from the water, calling his name and running toward him from a ways down the beach, anything but discreet. In spite of his dark mood, the Doctor smiles a little as he quickly retrieves a towel from the bag to wrap around his dripping form.

“What happened?” she gasps out, breathless as she reaches him.

“You were supposed to wait in the woods.”

“And you were supposed to get the TARDIS. Wouldn’t she start?” Smiling, Rose playfully swipes a drip from his chin. As he stiffens, a worry wrinkle appears between her brows.

“Didn’t want to move off the lakebed, for some reason. I could’ve gotten her into the Vortex, but I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get back here again. Didn’t want to risk it.”

“You got everything you need, though?” she asks soberly, nodding at the bag he’s just picked up from the sand.

“Oh, I think so.”

A heavy silence falls as they trudge back to the woods, and Rose makes no attempt to tease him while he dresses. What she does do, as they set off again, is reach out for his hand.

The Doctor wants to take it, terribly. So he pretends not to see, and a sharp pang goes through him when Rose plunges her hands deep into her pockets. Blimey, he hates hurting her, but he just… he’s got to keep his distance.

The sun is setting when they come upon the hill again, which seems even steeper going down. Rose reaches it first by a good ten feet, and starts down its slope without waiting for the Doctor. With trepidation, he lets her.

His hearts throb when he hears a pained gasp. And he can’t do a thing but watch in horror as she stumbles, grabbing for and missing the branch that would’ve kept her from falling.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Work has been crazy, and sadly I don't think April will be any better, so the next chapter probably won't come too quick, either. But this one was fun to write, and I really hope it was worth the wait. :)

“Rose!” the Doctor shouts in panic, snatching at tree trunks and branches in order to stay upright as he hops and skids down the steep slope after her. About halfway down, Rose lies crumpled and unmoving in a patchy clump of weeds to the side of the path. The twenty seconds it takes him to reach her feel unending, as he fears finding some horrific injury.

Finally dropping to his knees beside her head, he sucks a breath at the nasty abrasion just above her left eyebrow, swollen and bruised and oozing blood. Rose’s face is dirty, her eyes closed, and the Doctor’s hearts are in his throat as he palms her cheek carefully. “Rose?” 

“Mmmpgh,” Rose mumbles, eyelids fluttering. “Ow.”

Bending over her, he slides one hand round to cradle the back of her head. “Hey, hey, I’ve got you. Can you try to open your eyes for me, Rose?” 

With effort, she does so, and the Doctor exhales as she squints up at him. 

“Does your head hurt, dear?”

“Yeah…” Rose shifts slightly, and gasps. “Oh, my ankle hurts worse, though. Caught my foot in some roots up there, an’ tripped.”

The Doctor glances toward her feet, but with the dark trousers she’s wearing he can’t see what’s wrong. “Are you queasy at all?” he asks, hoping to rule out scarier injuries.

Dismay fills him when Rose gives him a tiny nod, and shuts her eyes again. “Probable concussion, then,” he mutters. “All right. I’m going to get you out of here, okay? Just give me a second to scan you over, and make sure it’s safe to shift you.”

He gets another small nod as he goes for his screwdriver. But as his fingers close around the tool, he pauses. What if the sonic truly isn’t functioning properly? Not only will it give him inaccurate readings, he might hurt Rose more. 

Swallowing, the Doctor repockets the sonic and touches Rose’s face again, stroking his thumb gently over her pinched forehead. He’s got a solid plan B for these sorts of situations. But to use it on Rose...

Well, he isn’t even hesitating. Probably because he’s so bloody scared already. 

“I need to assess your injuries, Rose, and I don’t trust the sonic.” He takes a breath. “May I connect with you?”

Her pale lips part in surprise, though she doesn't open her eyes. “Connect?”

“Telepathically,” he explains, and his fingers tremble a little as he places them on her temples. “If I connect with you, just on a surface level, mind, I can make sure you've no spinal injury.”

“Course you can.” 

Rose sounds short, impatient, like she thinks he’s daft for asking permission. But instead of being reassuring, it only adds to the Doctor’s agitation. Yes, he absolutely needs to be allowed to do this, but she needn’t be so blasé about it, especially with feeling the way she does about him. Doesn’t she get it, how there’s every chance he might see-

No, she doesn’t, he reminds himself angrily. So if you see anything you ought not you’re going to ignore it, because this is a clinical procedure.

Without wasting another second he closes his eyes, presses in at the door of her mind. Rose grants him easy, unrestricted access, and the first thing he encounters is warm, steady trust. Determined to deserve it, he stays at the very surface, following her spinothalamic tract to the relay center in her thalamus. From there, he can read the signals being delivered, as if her body’s an extension of his own. 

It’s a safe spot to hole up, here amidst a swirl of raw data. And it’s not long at all before the Doctor knows exactly what’s amiss with Rose, and that none of it is grave or life-threatening. His body slumps against hers, his relief so great that his physical -and emotional- reaction can’t be held back. 

Connected as they are, Rose catches all of this, and instantly responds. The pain she’s in casts a red shroud over everything, but it’s not thick enough to hide how she feels about him right now. It’s unabashed love, and it’s so intense that it’s practically a declaration. 

Something breaks loose inside him, something huge and wild and powerful and he jerks away from Rose, desperate to flee it before he has to look it in the face. Clumsily he scrambles off her, landing hard on his rear. 

“What’s wrong?” he hears her ask, sounding scared.

Taking a deep breath, he turns his face away to hide his face, which burns like fire. “Concussion and a fractured ankle,” he finally stutters out. Had any of...of whatever that was- had it spilt through the connection?

He can feel Rose staring at him. “It’s broken?”

“Yes.” Plunging a hand into his pocket, he buys a few moments in the search and retrieval of a small white bottle. “Here,” he says, finally placing a tiny capsule into her palm. “This will dull the pain in a few minutes.”

Rose puts it in her mouth and swallows it dry. “Thanks.”

The Doctor digs in his bag, and proceeds to work off his tumultuous feelings by tearing a towel into strips. After he’s got Rose’s ankle wrapped tight, he slides an arm beneath her knees, and urges her to wrap her arms around his neck. “I’m so sorry, but it’s going to hurt when I lift you.”

He sees Rose grit her teeth, but a small cry escapes her as he hoists her into his arms. The Doctor berates himself but then switches off his inner voice fairly easily, as it takes every bit of his Time Lord focus to carry her safely to the bottom of the hill. 

They both sigh in relief once he gets them to level ground. “Good job,” Rose whispers, and his arms tighten protectively around her as he takes off down the path, fast as he can go without jostling her too much. 

A short time after he’s veered from the path, hoping to exit the woods in a more convenient location, he feels her grip on him loosen. Glancing down, he sees she’s fighting to keep her eyes open. “Almost there,” he says softly. “You sleepy?”

“Yeah.” Rose manages a small smile. “But it’s okay. I know I’m not supposed to sleep with a concussion.”

“Nah, that’s a myth,” he informs her. “Your brain heals when you sleep, so I’ll actually want you to do lots of it later. But...well, if you hold off a few more minutes, you can meet a friend of mine.” 

“A friend?”

Rose sounds so bemused that he chuckles a little. “Don’t worry, it’s not a social call. I need to pick up a few medical supplies.”

His sense of direction proves flawless as usual, and they soon emerge near a field of half-grown wheat, a small brown barn only a little ways off. Outside its double doors he sees a tall girl, her brown braids swinging as she pumps water into a horse’s trough. He smiles. Finally a stroke of luck.

“Mali!” he calls out. Head popping up, Mali stares for a moment, shock crossing her face when she realises it’s him, her teacher, and that he’s got a woman in his arms. But she jogs his way immediately, wiping her hands on her skirt. 

“You looking for my father, Professor?” she asks, taking in the swollen abrasion on Rose’s forehead. “What happened?”

“My friend Rose here took a bit of a tumble. Your father’s help isn’t needed, my dear, but could you fetch me a proper splint and some bandages?”

“Yes,” she replies carefully, still looking at Rose, who manages a smile and a breathy hello. “But... Father’s not far off, he’s just in the house, so I can easily-”

“Mali, I’m a doctor too, just like your dad. I don’t call myself Doctor Smith just to sound impressive.” 

Injured as she is, Rose still snickers at him, and the Doctor can’t help but grin, though he pretends exasperation. “Oi, barely conscious and you’re still making fun of me?”

“Too easy,” Rose replies, and they share a smile before he glances back up at his student. She is watching them intently. 

The Doctor clears his throat. “Anyway. They didn’t need another doctor in town here, Mali, but I practiced before, back in… back where I used to live. Rose lived there too, that’s how we know each other. And I’d rather prefer to treat her myself, as it’s my fault she got hurt today.”

“It is _not,_ ” Rose pipes up, sounding annoyed.

“Wait, you’re the Peacekeeper who came into the shop,” says Mali. For a moment her sharp, keen eyes study Rose, and then light up in sudden comprehension (of what, he has no clue). She glances at the Doctor and then she’s off and running. “One minute!” she shouts back over her shoulder, skirts and braids flying.

“So that’s Mali,” Rose comments, words slurring a little. “Seems like a smart girl.” 

“Quite. Ehm, you holding up okay?”

She peers up at him from under heavy eyelids. “‘M not holding up, _you_ are. Holding me up. Aren’t your arms tired yet?”

“Time Lord,” he replies, as Rose’s warm, sweet-scented head falls heavy against his shoulder. His hearts speed as she nuzzles in a little. “And I think you’re a woozy little human. Pain pill kicking in rather well, yes?”

Warm fingers curl into the hair at his nape, making him shiver. “I like this.” Her face burrows closer to his neck, her breath puffing warm at his throat. “I like it when you hold me. I wish you’d hold me more often.”

Such open acknowledgement takes the Doctor aback, though he knows it's the medication talking, lowering her inhibitions. “Rose-”

“You’re too scared, I think,” she goes on, with a sleepy snuffle. “Cos I know you like it too. You hold me so tight, and I can hear your hearts racing.”

That statement does nothing to help his slow his pulse. The Doctor can’t formulate a reply, so he just stares hard at the house, as if his doing so might make Mali reappear before Rose can douse him with more of her unfiltered honesty. But in the next few minutes, neither thing happens. The house stays quiet and so does Rose, her arms going slack around his neck. Chancing a peek at her, he sighs in relief when he sees she’s fallen asleep.

Just then Mali bursts from the door and dashes back, cutting through the field. She’s panting when she reaches him, and thrusts a bag his way. It's bulging with medical supplies. 

“Thank you,” he says, awkwardly shifting Rose so he can grab it.

Mali gives him a searching look, and nods to the woman in his arms. “She’s young, isn’t she? I mean, really, truly young. She doesn’t just _look_ young.”

“Ye-es,” replies the Doctor, frowning. He’s not sure what she’s getting at, but he feels as if he’s being chastised. There’s no way she believes that he’s… well, that he and Rose are courting? His mouth opens again to dispel the notion; he’ll craft a nice lie, claim she’s a relative or that he knew her as a child or something. “She’s...she’s just a friend.”

Mali acquires a wicked smile. “You sure about that, Professor?”

He freezes. “Really, it’s not-”

She puts a hand up to forestall him, and drops the teasing grin. “I like her. She’s obviously smart enough to see that you’re special.” Mali’s gaze is serious and dark, and she looks older and wiser than her years. “My mother- she still speaks often of her first husband, and it’s been almost eighty years since he died. Anyway. I just mean that she’s never going to regret you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

The Doctor blinks at her, totally confused. Is it their age gap she’s referring to? Assuming he’s a human, who’s worried he’ll make Rose into a widow too soon? Part of him wishes he could tell Mali the truth of their situation, to see if she could wrap her clever brain around its massive complications. 

(And the other, larger part of him wishes he’d gotten this advice before, at least two bodies and several centuries ago. Before he knew regret over things left unsaid.)

“You’d best get her home,” Mali says, and the smile is back on her lips. “It will be dark soon.”

“Right.” Happy to escape, he bids her a hasty goodbye and rushes off, Rose limp with sleep in his arms. 

She stays asleep through the rest of the trip, stirring only when he finally places her on his bed.

“Doctor?” 

“I'm here,” he replies softly, tucking a woolly blanket over her, though he leaves one socked foot exposed. It’s chilly and rather dark in the house, and he’s still got to tend to her ankle. “Are you in pain?”

“Some, though I think the meds are still working. Am I in your room?”

“Yes, sorry. You're going to be stuck here for a bit, I'm afraid. Till that concussion resolves, at least.” He hovers at her bedside, itching to smooth her hair from her face, to hug and reassure her. (Well, to reassure himself. He is ridiculous.) “Wish I could speed up the healing process with the sonic for you,” he adds, full of regret.

“I’m alright, Doctor,” Rose says, though her bruised forehead looks ghastly in the dimness. “It was an accident. Not your fault.”

The Doctor lights the lamp with the sonic. “Well, I need to splint and bandage that ankle of yours properly now. And it won’t feel so nice, so I’d like to help you sleep through it. Just a...a quick telepathic nudge.”

Rose nods agreement, but then begins to shimmy around under the blanket.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to take off these trousers,” she says with a grunt. “They’re dirty and uncomfortable, and I won’t be able to get them off later, once I’ve got a great big cast on, now will I?”

He wants to argue, but when she struggles with it enough so that he gets a brief flash of lacy knickers, he decides it best he avoid a further show and just help her.

Once he’s slid the last of her trousers gingerly from her injured limb, she lays back with a sigh and closes her eyes. “Better. _Now_ you can fix me up.”

As he folds her trousers, the Doctor shakes his head at her bossy tone. “Anything else, your majesty?”

Rose’s lips quirk, but then her eyes go wide. “Oh! Rickey- I totally forgot about him, Doctor. You’ll go and feed him, won’t you? Please?”

She sounds genuinely afraid that he’ll refuse, which stings a bit. “Of course I will, Rose. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything, I promise.” Leaning in, he hovers his fingers over her temples. “Go ahead and sleep.”

Obediently, Rose closes her eyes, and two ticks later he’s got her out deep enough to sleep till morning. Jumping to action, the Doctor dumps the sack of medical supplies out on the foot of the bed. There’s a good number of rolls of white bandaging, and he takes a couple from the pile along with a splint, laying them beside her leg as he begins to unwrap the crude dressing from earlier. 

Her ankle is mottled purple and swollen, and the Doctor’s stomach knots at the sight. He frowns, not sure why he’s feeling so upset. Treating an injured friend is hardly a novelty.

Taking a few deep breaths, he tries to get a handle on his bloody emotions. Rose will be _fine,_ blimey. But nothing helps. With the adrenaline fading he feels awful, delayed worry and guilt making his hands shake. 

This is all his fault, no matter what Rose says. She would be happy right now, probably curled up on his sofa and laughing at his stupid jokes, if he hadn't panicked over nothing today. If he hadn’t rejected her for daring to care about him. So now she's laying here, looking small and broken, and he hates himself for it. 

The Doctor drops the wad of filmy dressing and scrubs a hand over his face. Until now, he’s been nothing but pleased with his current prickly, standoffish default. People can’t hurt him when he keeps them at arm’s length. And that’s so easy to do, when one’s tongue tends toward sarcasm rather than sympathy. When he’s simply not a hugging person.

But it can’t be denied any longer- Rose isn’t people. Pushing her away feels wrong, like he’s acting against deep-ingrained instinct. He wants to hold her hand. Wants to hold her tight, just like she said. And above all else, he longs to protect her.

He loves her.

The thought rings out unsummoned, loud enough to chase the tremors from his body, true enough to silence any contradictory notions. It stuns him; his lungs deflate and his hearts stop and every other mental gear grinds to a halt, and for a while all he can do is sit with it. Waiting for the fury that's sure to follow. The self-directed outrage over having allowed this to happen, again. 

But the anger never shows, not even when he prompts it by taking her limp hand in his. Thing is, he's not in love with her ‘again’, is he? He's in love with her _still._ It's always been there, like a ringing in the ears that one stops noticing as years pass, until something draws attention to it. 

And when he looks at Rose -his Rose, in the flesh, asleep in his bed- all he feels is awe. After all these years, they're together again. He gets to spend brand-new days with her.

And that is a _gift._

Picking up the roll of gauze, the Doctor takes his time tending Rose, slowly absorbing his new reality. And it’s strange, because even though he hates the thought of losing her soon, there’s no hint of the self-pitying spiral his past selves would’ve indulged in. Rather, he feels at peace- even though he can't act on his feelings, he's glad he’s no longer lying to himself. And if his gaze lingers on her face from time to time, or his hearts feel full to bursting, well. There’s no need to chastise himself for it.

Sadness can wait.

 

********

 

"What?" he asks, unable to hide his dismay at the sight of her packed bag. "You're leaving? You can’t go anywhere; it’s only been three days. You’re not even close to well enough yet.” 

“I keep getting calls.” Using the bureau for support, Rose peers into its mirror, gesturing behind her to the pad of paper lying on the table beside the bed. “Some can’t be put off any longer. I’ll be going on horseback, of course. It’ll be fine.” 

“No,” he says instantly, adamant and thunderous. She’d been pale in bed when he left this morning. She has no business even being up, much less going out. “That concussion’s not fully resolved, you can’t ride around on horseback. Someone else can handle those calls.”

Scowling, Rose picks up her hairbrush. “There’s only one other Peacekeeper in this region. She can’t do everything.”

“Maybe, but I doubt anybody’s in danger of being murdered. Admit it, Rose, you’re dizzy just standing there. I can tell.”

Her reflected eyes meet his in the glass, and her expression turns wheedling. “You could come with me.”

“I could, but I won’t. It’d attract tons of attention, the two of us mucking about on a horse.” He crosses his arms. “The last thing I need is Mrs. Dewey next door to suspect you’ve been staying here.”

“Oh, Mrs. Dewey,” echoes Rose, hand going to her forehead theatrically. “Whatever might she think? Heaven forbid we scandalize the old bird.”

The Doctor bites back a smile, unwilling to budge an inch in this argument. “Well, I’m not ready to have the town run me off with pitchforks quite yet. And that’s what’ll happen, if they think I’ve moved you in without...”

“Marrying me?” concludes Rose casually, tying her hair into a side ponytail. “Yeah, I know. Hand me my satchel?”

He does, and frowns when she tucks her hairbrush into it, along with a few other things of hers that are strewn over his dresser. “What… why are you still packing things up?”

Rose sighs. “Doctor, you just said why. All joking aside, we’re stuck here for the time being, so we can’t afford to jeopardise our reputations. Unless you’ve changed your mind about me using the cannon before my ankle’s better?”

His scowl deepens.“No way. There’s no guarantee it’ll take you straight home, you’ve got to be able to run.”

“Well, that’s weeks away. So I figured, well… I’d do a round of calls and then head back to my place. Staying in here with the curtains drawn was fine when I was sleepin’ all day, Doctor, but today I was bored. But I couldn’t even go out and sit on the step, there’s too many other houses about, somebody’s gonna find out I’m staying with you and think we’re… you know. Plus, I know Rickey’s been annoying you.” 

The Doctor glances at his bed, to the small grey fuzzball peacefully sleeping there amidst the rumpled blankets. Shedding fur everywhere, no doubt. “Well, your other Rickey annoyed me too and you never seemed to worry about it.”

Rose snickers. “Anyway, my place is isolated, so you can come and go all you want and nobody’ll ever catch on. It’ll be a much better home base, yeah?”

The Doctor absorbs that, relieved and mostly placated. They won’t be separating, just relocating. “All right, fine. We’ll move out, but that’s all. No working. And we’re not leaving this house till after dark, because we are smart criminals. Now go back to bed.”

“No, we’re smooth criminals,” Rose replies with a grin, though she makes no move to obey him. “There’s another good song for your class.”

“Ha, thought we were trying to avoid the pitchforks.” He eyes her as she hobbles farther from the bed, fetching her communicator off the bookcase, and he gets ready to physically block the doorway. “Listen- I have a surprise I've been saving for you. A gift. But you can only have it if you go lie down, like a good girl.”

For a moment she just looks at him, a gleam in her eye that he hopes isn’t defiance. “Are you trying to bribe me, Doctor?”

“Absolutely.”

“It better be chocolate,” she says, finally moving toward the bed. 

“Maybe it’s even better.”

Rose smiles then, a slow, flirtatious thing that makes his blood simmer in his veins. “Promises, promises.”

The Doctor’s eyes lock on her mouth, and then he catches himself. “Get in bed,” he shoots back with a saucy grin, and hurries from the room to fetch the bag he’d brought from the TARDIS. 

It looks like a briefcase, black with a curved top that locks with a large gold clasp, and Rose raises her eyebrows when he plonks it on the foot of the bed. “There’s something good in there for me and you’re just now giving it?”

“Wanted you to be coherent enough to appreciate it,” he replies, opening the case and plunging his arm shoulder-deep into its bigger-on-the-inside interior. Rose laughs in delight, just as he’d hoped, so he makes a great show of rummaging around, this way and that, before he fishes out a gorgeous old book. 

“Oh, Mansfield Park,” says Rose, smiling as he hands it over. “I still haven’t read this one.”

“I was hoping you hadn’t. You’ll love it...Fanny, the heroine, she reminds me of you in certain ways. So... thoughtful and kind.”

He chucks the compliment at her, gruffer than he means to be, but Rose flushes pink anyway. “Wow, Doctor, a book _and_ compliments?” she says with a laugh. “‘S pretty nice, but…” She tilts her head. “Not sure it’s as good as chocolate.” 

“Did I say that was all?” he retorts, glaring at her as he dives into the bag again. Quickly locating his guitar, he grasps it by the neck and, emulating Mary Poppins, slowly and matter-of-factly lifts the large instrument from the small bag, like there’s nothing ridiculous about it.

Rose is breathless with giggles as he lays it on the bed. “Ooh, will you play it now?”

“Later,” he says, already pulling a full-length mirror from the case in the same theatrical fashion, and Rose’s mirth is such that it’s difficult for him to keep a straight face.

“I hate the mirrors here,” the Doctor informs her as he sets it in a corner and quickly checks his hair. Nice and wild. “They make my face look weird.”

“Well, I think they’re fine,” Rose replies, stroking the sleeping Rickey, “so that’s two gifts for yourself and only one for me. Some bribe, Time Lord.”

Eyes narrowed in challenge, he reaches in the bag again. And this time, Rose squeals with joy when he tosses into her lap a shiny black device.

“A tablet?!”

His smile breaks loose, he’s tickled to see her so happy. “Yes. It’s loaded with tons of films and television series. There’s a few good ones that we never watched together.” A thought occurs to him as she presses the power button, and his smile falters a bit. “Oh, I hope it works. I actually forgot till just now, how electronics don’t seem to do so well here-”

“It’s perfect!” she exclaims, tilting the brightly-lit screen his way, full of rows of colourful apps. “So what should we watch first?”

“I have a few ideas, but will you mind if we save it for later? Besides, you’ll have hours of time to watch films over the next few days. While you’re _recuperating._ ”

Rose wrinkles her nose up rudely at him. “What are we gonna do instead, if we’ve gotta just sit around till it’s dark?”

The Doctor takes a breath, quashing the first idea that pops to mind. “Well, I need your help before tomorrow rolls around, thinking of a couple good songs to teach the kids.” He sits on the bed near her feet, and picks up his guitar. “I’ve got to get them practicing as soon as possible.”

“Right,” she replies, eyes lighting up as she watches him strum a few chords. “I suppose it can’t be just anything, can it? If we want this to stick, for people to see the good in creating new music, we can’t shock them too much.”

“Exactly. Though it feels weird, eh, trying _not_ to cause trouble?”

“I know,” Rose says, laughing as she pointedly smooths her Peacekeeper’s gown. “So, you’re thinking something fun, but with a moral lesson?”

“I suppose. Are there any like that?”

“Um.” Rose thinks, though the way she’s tapping her chin and smirking tells him he’s not going to get any serious suggestions. “How about ‘Whistle While You Work’?”

Snorting, the Doctor plays the first few bars. “Huh, I think that lacks a certain something. How about this?” He launches into “Stairway to Heaven”, playing all of the intro, and then glances to Rose. She’s staring at him, heat in her eyes, and he swallows. “Opinion?”

“Gorgeous,” she says, gaze locked on his. “But...will people get the metaphors, Doctor?”

“Right, good point. Need something more straightforward then.”

“Oh, I’ve got one. How about “Lose Yourself”?”

“Lose Yourself?” he repeats, brow furrowing. 

“Yeah, it’s about how when life throws you an opportunity, you’ve got to step up and take it.”

He looks at Rose. Her expression is funny, and he wonders if she’s trying to tell him something. “Who’s it by?”

“Eminem.” She grins, and he groans. 

“Okay, okay, are you actually going to help with this or not?”

A hint of pink tongue shows up then, grazing an incisor, and sod it all, she knows she’s bloody adorable. “I think the second song should be a love song,” Rose says, and oh, now he really can’t look at her anymore. “There’s no way that won’t go over well. And it should be easy to choose one.”

“True enough on all counts,” he replies, staring down at his guitar while he plucks out a random melody. “But it’s got to be a fun, upbeat one. No ballads. And here’s the other thing,” he says impulsively, as a brilliant idea flashes to mind. “If I’ve got to play my guitar at this festival, then you’ve got to pick another song, and sing it.” 

“What? No!”

“Why not? You’ve got a lovely voice. I used to hear you all the time.”

“I didn’t know- why didn’t you say?” 

“Was afraid you might stop.”

They both go quiet, and for awhile he fills the silence by playing for her, songs he knows she’ll like. “You should pack a few things,” says Rose, as the last notes of “Blackbird” fade away. “It’ll be dark enough to go soon.”

“Right,” he says, getting to his feet and stretching. Then it hits him. “Oh, I had one last bribe for you. Though maybe I should save it, for the next time I need you to behave.”

“No way. You announce a gift, you give it.”

The Doctor smiles at her and opens the case, eager to see her reaction when she sees she’s getting chocolate after all (how had he got so distracted so as to forget about it?), when his fingers find something else that makes him instantly dizzy.

It’s a photo, he discovers on taking it out. But he feels so ill, holding it, that he can’t squint at it long enough to make it out. Eyes squeezing shut, he tosses it Rose’s way.

“What is this, Doctor? What’s the matter with you?”

“Don’t know,” he rasps. “But I didn’t pack that. What’s the photo of?”

A quiet moment. “It’s Mali. With a man, I don’t recognise him. He’s dressed up, but really fancy, like a leader or a soldier or something, I’m not sure. But...well, the weird thing is, Mali’s older. She’s got grey in her hair.” She pauses, and he can feel her gaze. “So it’s a photo from the future. Does that have anything to do with why it’s hurting you?”

“Yes.” Forcing his eyes open, the Doctor plucks the picture from her fingers and exhales with relief as he stuffs it deep in a pocket. He gives his eyes and temples a good rub.

Rose’s hand sets down warm on his thigh, and she raises a brow when he meets her eyes. “Well?”

“It’s not a photo from the future, Rose. It’s a photo of something that’s not supposed to happen, whether it’s the person, or the event. My people called things like this 'Should-Not-Be’s'.”

She nods, accepting that; he knows it’s far from the weirdest thing she’s ever heard of. “And how’d it get here?”

The Doctor runs a hand through his hair, standing it more on end. “I wish I knew, Rose. But, thing is, this isn’t the first one I’ve found.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your patience with my delayed updates. ❤️ Once June rolls around I'll have more time for writing, and I can't wait to get the rest of this story done!

By the time he finally brings a horse around the sun has long since set, thick clouds draping the sky till the night’s black as tar. It’s almost too dark to travel, though Rose laughs at him when he says so. Unlike him, she’s more wound-up than worried by their discussion of the weird anomalies here, and the Doctor suspects the idea of following it up with this, a potentially perilous ride, suits her adventurous mood.

Her excitement is contagious (and not a little attractive), so they pile atop the poor beast, his arms bracketing Rose as he clutches the reins. The trip to her cottage is not entirely without incident, but she laughs every time they veer off into the brush, presses back tighter against him at every unsettling sound. Altogether it’s brilliant fun.

The night’s half-spent before they settle in and quiet down. Rose sleeps in her bed, while the Doctor settles into a corner of her wonderfully cushy sofa to get some work done, strewing papers all over (which gets him into a territory dispute with Rickey that will end up lasting _weeks._ )

When the sun rises, he promises Rose a day full of films and telly if she’ll please stay in bed. She doesn’t agree until after he switches tactics, threatening to hide the tablet from her indefinitely.

The next day she hides the tablet first, so he loses that particular argument, and she’s literally back in the saddle. As a Peacekeeper, she has the authority to work whenever, wherever she pleases. He envies her that freedom, a bit, and wonders what she’ll do with it.

Rose sets her schedule to match his. 

Their hours together are golden. There’s talking and companionable silences, meals to cook and woodsy walks to take. They curl up to binge watch television shows on the tablet- Rose resting heavily against him, holding his hand, her soft hair tickling his nose (it stuns him, how quickly he’s learned to crave such physical contact). He never grades papers until long after she’s in bed. 

He complains. Slack-off students, his boss, this backwards planet, the myriad ways her beloved pet persecutes him; there are always grievances that need airing. This body, it seems, is hard-wired to whinge. Rose intuitively understands this, and she’s happy to lend a listening ear. Sometimes she’s sympathetic. She’s usually amused.

Smiles grace his face frequently. His eyebrows no longer menace, and his chest often aches from laughing. His muscles learn how to relax. Contentment stills his restless wandering feet. He’s the Doctor, and he's living a life that’s domestic as it gets, as Rose loves to point out. The Doctor only grins back, and pretends he hasn’t the foggiest idea what she’s on about. 

It’s the closest he dares get to telling her the truth: things are not better with two. They’re better with _her._

He never forgets that each day is a gift, and tries hard not to dwell on how few of them they've been allotted. He’s so old now, and has learned too many things the hard way. No way is he about to repeat the mistakes of his Tenth self, grieving Rose before she’s even gone. 

That spiky-haired idiot, all hyped-up on fear and emotion. Hating himself too much to give Rose what she deserved. The scars from his reign are old and unfaded, rooted too deep to be remedied now.

However, the temptation to try burns hotter every day.

They’re the questions that plague him constantly: How can he let her go, again, without ever telling her he loves her? Without having acted upon his feelings at all? 

To do so just might be the final twist of the knife in his hearts, but his hands are tied. The risks to their personal timelines is just too great. If Rose hears that awaited _I love you_ at this point, she won’t ask him for it on Bad Wolf Bay. His meta-crisis won’t stand a chance. His past self will fly off into the sunset with Rose, and that -while beyond thrilling in theory- would change everything. No Ponds, no River, and that would just be the start, the outward ripples becoming temporal tidal waves. Temporal tsunamis, even.

So that's that; he’ll bite his tongue, and keep his hands off. It kills him, but he takes comfort in the fact that surely, surely Rose knows what they have. She’s got to. There’s no way he’s the only one who understands this, how they are so much more than companions or partners or friends. The warm-hearted human and jaded alien, so plainly two parts of the same whole that he wonders how he’d ever been mystified by it. 

Wonders why he spent so many years stubbornly refusing to label it, when his grief on losing her had clearly been that of a widower. 

How thick he’d been, believing he’d gotten over something like that. It will last for as long as he does. 

Rose herself, however-

“No, no no no,” he mutters under his breath, going rigid, trying to halt another downward spiral of his thoughts with some of the denial that’s served him so well over the last few weeks. _She’s not gone yet._

But it’s too worn, too threadbare. It can’t help him any longer- and neither, it seems, can his storehouse of recent joys, precious jewels though they are. Truth draws back to stab him again, and the Doctor clenches the papers in his hands while he rides it out, pain and anger welling up like blood.

Only two days left. 

Two days left with Rose, not including this one. Which he’s wasting, sitting here in the grass and the breeze of the afternoon, lording it over a bunch of kids who can’t bear to be still anymore either.

“Enough with all the chatting, already,” he orders without looking up, his pen swiping red and merciless over the paper. “Or this will be the last time we ever hold class outside, and I won’t care if the heat melts you lot into tiny little puddles.”

Quiet reigns for a moment, and then a hesitant- “Professor?”

With a scowl, the Doctor lifts his eyes from the paper and glares from beneath thick eyebrows. “You’re feeling brave today, Tom?”

Tom cringes, but opens his mouth again. “School’s being let out, sir.”

The Doctor frowns, glancing toward the schoolhouse off in the distance. Sure enough, children pour from its front door. “Huh,” he grunts, as his internal clock, so neglected these days, informs him that time has indeed gotten away from him again. “You’re all dismissed.”

The kids burst to life, their happy noise grating on him as they gather their things. A good number of them grin and wave as they hurry toward the schoolhouse, clearly willing to forgive his black mood. “See you at the festival, Professor!” he hears a group of girls call out.

He nods without looking up, pretending full focus on packing his satchel so they won’t see his dismay. They don't deserve it, with how hard they’ve worked. Though it was slow-going at first, most of his students have done fairly well learning the new songs he’d taught them. Some even put forth effort to learn a few chords on the guitar. It should thrill him, how eager they are to show off their new skills to their families and the community. It _does_ thrill him, as an isolated fact. 

But his pride in his students can’t overcome his dread of the looming festival. The endpoint of Rose’s stay. It’s two days away, and her ankle is healed, which means most of his days with her have already fallen away from beneath his feet like bricks from a broken bridge. 

You can’t ignore it anymore, he admits to himself as he gets to his feet and shoulders his bag. Your time with her is almost up, and you’ve got to talk with her about it. Not only that, they’ve got to get her cannon running as well, make sure the new power-cell works properly. 

Stepping out of the shade of the trees, he tilts his face to the sun and shuts his eyes, wishing he could shake off this shroud of gloom. He hates to think of it darkening the scant time they have left. And he hates feeling so conflicted. Dreading seeing Rose, while also resenting every minute spent away from her.

The latter quickly wins out, and his eyes open as he takes off briskly, so as to avoid being delayed by any of the kids still milling about. 

“Hey, Professor!” a young, brash male voice calls at his back. Of course. 

The Doctor tenses, considers ignoring it, and then he turns. “Can I help you, Mister Felston?”

Kenna stumbles a bit as one of his friends shoves him. He shoves the other boy back before meeting the Doctor’s gaze, scraggly honey-coloured hair hanging in his eyes, as usual. “You know those books we picked out today, for independent reading?”

“Do I _know_ the books? I suppose so, though I’m not friends with all of them.”

There’s a chorus of snickers, and Kenna frowns. “I mean, is reading it mandatory?”

“No,” replies the Doctor, deadpan. “You only have to do it if you want to graduate.”

The boy slumps, and his friends start up another round of shoving as the Doctor begins to walk away, muttering under his breath. “Pudding brain.”

A soft giggle catches his attention, and the Doctor glances down to see Ane’s come up beside him, along with Mali. “Who’s a pudding brain?” 

“Your boyfriend over there,” he grumps. “And anyone else who asks me stupid questions,” he adds, hoping to dissuade any further conversation.

Ane wrinkles her nose in Kenna’s direction, breeze tossing her blonde curls. “Ew.” 

The Doctor salutes them, but Mali stalls him with a hand on his arm. “Where are you off to in such a rush?” she asks, a knowing glitter in her eyes.

“What did I just say about stupid-” A smirk appears on her lips and he sighs, swallowing the rest of his retort. “Do you need something?”

Something smooth and solid presses into his hand and he glances down. It’s her leather-bound notebook. “Yes,” she replies, sounding out-of-breath as he looks back up, too surprised to respond. “I finished it, I finished writing the whole story. Ane illustrated it and everything. And...well, will you please read it and tell me what you think?”

Suddenly the sun feels warm again. “I’d be honoured,” he tells her, with sincerity. 

A rosy flush tints her cheeks. “Please criticise it,” she adds, almost fiercely, like she’ll be angry if he dares like it too well. 

The Doctor pats the notebook and nods. “Of course.”

Mali nods back, and without another word drags Ane off through the grass. 

Slipping the notebook into his satchel, the Doctor heads in the opposite direction, his steps a bit lighter. The story will be brilliant, he has no doubt, a clever girl like Mali could produce nothing less. What a rare flower she is. Needing only a little encouragement, the proper conditions, to bloom as she ought to. 

He hates to think of how things might’ve turned out for her if he’d never crash-landed here. Definitely worries about how her life might turn out once he’s gone. He’s made an impact, sure. But is it enough to sustain her, to make her strong enough to withstand the pressures of custom and culture? Or will she succumb, and then wilt away as nothing more than some moron’s wife?

Well, his mind’s voice chimes in, you could whisk her away from all that.

The Doctor shakes his head to dislodge the thought. He’s got to focus on things with Rose right now, he can think of what comes after...well, _after._

Not that the subject’s never invaded his mind before. Nights here are silent, frequently sleepless and lonely, giving reality the occasional opportunity to sneak in and ask him horrid questions. What will he do next? How he will he feel? 

Thing is, ever since he owned up to being companionless, he knows such questions weigh on Rose, too (though she’s only voiced them with sad, searching eyes.) He likes to think that her having met him here, catching a glimpse of his future and seeing he’s okay, will let her live her life without worrying about him. But that’s not quite true, is it?

Rose will always worry, especially if she thinks he’ll be alone. The Doctor chews that over, shifting his bag to his opposite shoulder as he turns down the main road of the village. Perhaps it’s best if he reaches a decision now, so he can share it with Rose. And then he can put the whole issue out of his mind. 

There’s no doubt Mali would make a fantastic companion. And to invite her along was actually decided, albeit subconsciously, until that little Should-Not-Be floated into his hand and made him begin to question everything. The booklet, as well as the photo of Mali, with that man, a soldier on a pacifist planet... Somewhere there’s a flaw in the timelines, a weakness. Press too hard in the wrong spot and it’ll break, and go veering to that future. 

As a Time Lord, it’s his job to find the flaw, to ease the pressure. 

He’s halfway there. The flaw is _him; _he’s sure of it. That said, his influence is quite limited, permeating a single class-full of kids, a school. Maybe it’ll extend throughout the village some, before he leaves. All he is is the spark.__

____

The gunpowder, however…could very well be Mali. So, to ease the pressure on the timelines… does he do so by taking her with him? By removing her entirely from this time and place, till all danger has passed? Or will her travels with him, all her new knowledge and growth, be what later affects her home planet? 

____

How can he possibly know?

____

“...mister? Mister?” 

____

Blinking, the Doctor makes eye contact with a young ginger-haired boy padding toward him on dirty bare feet, two full stringers of fish dangling from his hands. “Do ya?”

____

“What? Do I _what?”_

____

“Want to buy some fish,” the boy repeats nervously, eyes going wide. 

____

The Doctor smooths out his scowl. “You caught all those yourself?” he asks in a much kinder tone, eyeing the stringers with pretended awe as his brain catches up. 

____

A proud, gap-toothed smile breaks across the sunburnt little face. “Yessir. It’s gonna rain later, so they’s biting like crazy.”

____

The Doctor taps his chin thoughtfully. They’ve got flour and eggs at home, oil and potatoes too- he can see Rose’s delighted smile already, when she finds they’re having fish and chips. “Well, I’d love to buy some, but only if your family doesn’t need them.”

____

“Money’ll keep longer,” the child says wisely, and one small transaction later the Doctor’s striding through town with a stringer of fish in his hand, Mali’s book in his bag, and he actually feels like smiling.

____

The feeling lasts all of a minute.

____

“Doctor Smith! Doctor Smith, wait a moment!”

____

And here it is, the sour turn he knew the day was going to take. Even when shouting her voice is refined, her diction over-precise, and the Doctor grits his teeth as he slows and turns around. Lina Queras greets him with a warm smile as she hurries across the road, full skirts swishing, but this only makes him brace himself all the more. Either she wants to bat her lashes at him, or she’s got a bone to pick. Maybe both.

____

“Oh, Doctor Smith, thank goodness I’ve run into you,” she says, smoothing back a flyaway curl. “I waited for you in your room, but you never returned to the school.”

____

And there it is. For the last several weeks she’s tolerated (barely) him taking his class to the woods to practise their music, but only because there was no hole she could poke in his logic- that practising inside would disturb the whole school. But today he’d pushed the limits, keeping his kids outside for the entire afternoon session. 

____

“I didn’t fancy a return,” he replies curtly. “It was a bake-oven inside today, Lina. I'd truly like to know how you managed to keep your class awake.” 

____

“I couldn’t,” says Lina, a line appearing between her fine brows at his snappishness.

____

His own brows pinch. “What?”

____

“I couldn’t keep them awake,” she explains, with a sheepish expression. “It was too warm. You certainly had an excellent idea- your class did well outside, didn’t they?”

____

The Doctor nods, perplexed. Since when does this woman accept a new idea without a battle? Much less embrace one? “Thank you,” he says, deciding it best to not question it. “But, ah, I’d best be going. I’m in a bit of a hurry to get these home,” he adds, holding the fish up in front of her face. 

____

Her perfect nose wrinkles as she shifts back. “Yes, I see. But aren’t you going the wrong way, then?”

____

His own house is indeed well off in the opposite direction. “Heard there was some asparagus still growing, just out of town,” he lies glibly. “I was going to see if I could find some. Quickly.”

____

She smiles again. “I’ll help you,” she says, touching light fingers to his arm. “And then, if you’d like, I could whip up a nice batter for those fish. You don’t cook much, do you?” 

____

What falls out of his mouth next utterly surprises him. “That’s very kind, but I bought these fish for Rose.”

____

Oh, look, he’s properly stunned her. The Doctor hides a smile, delighted to think that maybe she’ll never flirt with him again after this. “Rose?” Lina asks, frowning. “The new Peacekeeper in town? The blonde one with the injured leg?”

____

“She’s better now, but yes.”

____

She forces a smile, levity in her tone. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”

____

“Only if I keep her waiting,” he declares with a nod. “Must be off. Goodbye.” Turning away, he finally lets loose his grin as he continues briskly down the road. 

____

It’s strange, how much better he feels. The day’s really turned around. Normally the opposite happens- if the universe smells blood, it tries its best to bite him. 

____

The Doctor pauses, and eyes the sky suspiciously. Bit ridiculous, he knows, but still. A difficult conversation with Rose looms, and he refuses to be lulled into a false sense of security. 

____

 

____

********

____

 

____

True to the little boy’s word, towering thunderheads have gathered by the time he goes through Rose’s front gate, the sky rumbling ominously. Part of the Doctor wonders if maybe this is (finally) a bad sign, but mostly he just inhales the cooler air, heavily scented with the promise of rain. He adores summer storms.

____

As he reaches the front door, lightning flashes. He pauses, counts -two, three, four, five- until thunder punctuates it, and then glances in through the kitchen window. His eyes meet Rickey’s, who is waiting for him, as usual, in his favourite (forbidden) perch atop the table. The two engage in their customary glare-down, and then the Doctor notices it. 

____

Yellow glass of some sort is scattered over the table, all irregular bits and sharp edges, like broken china. A quick little rush of fear goes over him -Rose would never let her pet sit amidst something like that- and, forgetting all his other apprehensions, he bounds inside, calling her name. “Rose!”

____

No answer. 

____

“Rose!” he shouts again, dumping the fish in the sink and going to pluck Rickey up from the table. He notes, with relief, that there are no blood smears amongst the debris, but a thin chain, like a necklace, catches his eye and he picks it up. One end is attached to a broken bit of something, a thin piece of curved silver.

____

The Doctor sucks a quick breath. This isn’t a shattered plate. 

____

It’s the dimension cannon. 

____

Just then, Rose’s voice calls out, tiredly. “Doctor? I’m in the lounge.”

____

He finds her curled into a corner of the sofa, feet tucked under her skirt, protected from the chill breeze that drifts in through an open window. Rose has also zipped herself into his black hoodie, and the sight sends a curious, possessive heat through him. “Are you alright?” he asks, eyes raking over her. 

____

Rose nods, but her smile is absent and her eyes are pained. “Hey,” she says, when she sees he’s carrying Rickey. “I thought I shut him in the bedroom.” 

____

“Well, then he must've escaped again, because I just found him on the kitchen table, sitting in all that...rubbish.”

____

“Blimey, is he okay?” she gasps, bounding to her feet to quickly inspect the animal’s small paws. After she deems him unharmed, the Doctor deposits Rickey in the bedroom, returning to find Rose is waiting on the sofa again.

____

The Doctor hovers in front of her awkwardly, twisting a button on his coat. He has no idea what’s going on. “Um, so...”

____

Rose pins him with a scrutinising look. “Have you been lying to me?”

____

Utterly taken aback, he squints at her. “Lying?” he echoes stupidly, like he’s never heard of the word. “Lying about what?”

____

She dents her chin with one fingertip, eyes never leaving his. “About me finding you again. Helping to bring the stars back.” 

____

Relaxing a little, he releases a held breath. He’s been less than forthright with her about a lot of things, but this is only too true. “No,” he says gently. “That’s not a lie.”

____

Her eyes narrow, appraising him further. “I don’t believe you.”

____

The tone she uses is soft, calm, but he’s raw and the accusation stings him. A lot. “Excuse me?”

____

“I don’t believe you,” she repeats, sounding more certain than angry. A clap of thunder rolls out, long and low, and the first spatterings of rain hit the window panes. “I don’t believe we were ever together after Canary Wharf. There’s so many things, Doctor...things that just don’t add up.”

____

The Doctor feels lost, frustrated, like this is the climax of a film he’s mostly slept through. Taking a deep breath, he goes to shut the window, then sits on the other end of the couch. “I’d say I’m all ears, Rose,” he replies shortly, “but I seem to have lost that particular trait a long time ago, along with my tolerance for ridiculous accusations.”

____

Rose glares, the space between them on the sofa filling with tension. “Alright then, explain this, if it’s so ridiculous. Why don’t you ever slip up? Not once, in all the time we’ve spent here together, have you ever confused me for my future self. No inside jokes that I don’t understand, no ‘sorry, I forgot that hasn’t happened yet for you’, no little rituals I don’t know about-’”

____

“All that proves is that I’ve been careful-”

____

“Then there’s all the stories I’ve told you,” she goes on, voice raising over his, “about the jumps and my job and my life in the other universe, and it’s like you’d never heard them before. Or what about the films, and the television shows? I mean, we were partway through the third season of Friends when I...when I got lost. In all our supposed years together, we never got around to finishing it? That makes _no_ sense.”

____

“Well,” he sputters, crossing his arms and trying not to look guilty, “you...you don’t know what my last self was like. I was like a hyped-up kid, with the attention span of a gnat. I couldn’t sit still long enough for anything.”

____

All he gets is a disbelieving eye roll, and he points a finger at her as an even better argument occurs to him. “Plus, you never said anything! You never asked to watch it, and that does make sense, because you’d already finished the series with,” the Doctor thumps his chest triumphantly, “this me.”

____

Rose gives her head a slow shake. “So that you was also too impatient to listen to stories about my life? About my family?”

____

“No, of course not, I… I always like hearing about your life. That doesn’t mean it was new information.”

____

A long-suffering sigh escapes, but then her eyes flash and he feels it coming; her trump card. “The cannon’s _not real._ ”

____

“Okay,” he says slowly, not quite sure he follows. “I suppose right now that’s true enough, because it looks to me like you dropped it. As hard as you could.”

____

“It _shattered,”_ she contradicts, jaw jutting. “When I tried to insert the new power-cell, it broke apart in my hands. The cannon’s made of titanium and polycarbonate, so how did that happen?”

____

The Doctor stills. “What?”

____

“The tablet works fine.” Rose begins to tick off her fingers. “And after the cannon broke apart, I wired the new battery to a communicator and tested it, and it’s fine too. And I’ll bet anything your screwdriver is perfect as well. But the cannon’s fake, just like you said weeks ago.”

____

This is new information, an intriguing mystery, and a safe road to steer this conversation down. His mouth opens, eager to pursue it. And shuts again, at Rose’s look of warning.

____

“So it got me thinking,” she goes on, tugging on a hoodie-string, “maybe I never get back there, to Pete’s World. Maybe I don’t find you. I mean, it’s hardly out of the question for you to discover the stars were disappearing, all on your own. S’not like you’d need my help.”

____

“So you think you, what? Just went missing?”

____

Rose shrugs. “It’s possible.” 

____

“But why would I lie about all that, Rose? For what possible motivation?”

____

“Easy. You’re a martyr, Doctor. Even now, you think I’m better off in Pete’s World with my family, an’ this is your way of...of tricking me back there. By making me think there’s still a mission.”

____

The Doctor gapes at Rose. “No. I would never do that.”

____

“But you _have._ ” Her lashes fall, her expression turning vulnerable. “This is your chance, you know,” she says, more to her lap than to him. “If there’s anything you wish you could change.”

____

Understanding dawns, and he tips his head back against the sofa. Rose isn’t angry with him, she’s _hopeful._ She hopes he’s been lying, because if so, there’s no risk to the timelines if she doesn’t go back. 

____

She wants to stay with him.

____

As his eyes trace the ceiling slats he begins to reason, dangerously. She knows him now -this him- and she loves him. It gives him the power to make a huge, game-changing move. It wouldn’t be easy, but he could sneak in through the gap between worlds, the instant after his former self leaves her, and open his ship’s doors to that terrible beach and watch as she runs toward him, choosing him this time and not-

____

“Doctor?”

____

Hearts galloping, he rolls his head to meet Rose’s eyes, shocked at the incredibly selfish turn of his thoughts. “There’s nothing to change,” he forces out, before his hearts settle on the opposite. “We can build a new cannon, you know that. It’s...the universe is truly at stake, Rose. I knew nothing of the stars going out until you told me. Remember the first night you found me here, and I already knew about the dimension cannon? How would I have known about it, if I hadn’t seen it before?”

____

Rose’s nostrils flare, and she stares at the dripping, greyed-out window. “You know, I had this all sorted out in my head, into the best-case scenario, and the worst-case. Best-case, of course, was that you hadn’t ever found me, and therefore had no hand in how I don’t end up with you.”

____

Suppressing a flinch, he scratches at his plaid trousers. “Oi, I never said you don’t-”

____

“You never said, cos you’ve been nothing but evasive! C’mon, Doctor, I’m not asking for specifics, all I want is a simple yes or no. We save the universe, and after it’s all over, you and I _stay together.”_ Rose leans in, her eyes searching his. “Yes? Or no?”

____

The Doctor looks away, and in a dull voice, gives her an answer that’s true enough. “Yes.”

____

Rose goes silent. Rain pounds the small cottage like it disapproves, like it wants to beat some sense into him. He’s hardly alleviated her fears, he knows, but there’s nothing else he can say, or reveal, without endangering everything. And now his stomach churns with anxious anticipation, like he’s on trial, awaiting his judgement. 

____

A hot hand closes firmly around his wrist and he jumps, eyes going wide as he watches Rose slide close to him on the cushion. “Okay,” she says, in a low, resolute tone that makes it more than a little hard to breathe. “I’ll believe you, just...explain one last thing. If we were together, why have we been dancing around each other for weeks?”

____

His mouth opens, works. “Dancing?”

____

“It’s like we’re stuck, right where we were before I left. On Bad Wolf Bay, Doctor, I told you how I felt about you. And you replied- or at least, you started to. Did you never tell me how that sentence was gonna end?”

____

Dark and dilated, her eyes pull him like whirlpools, and he can’t look away. Can’t seem to find words, or breath, or sanity enough to formulate some answer- some meaningless, glib thing, to sting her off before she finds out that yes, he’s finished that sentence. At least a million times, a billion, he’s said it, shouted it, lived it, dreamed it; its triple-time beat throbs in his fingertips even now. And soon enough, her ears will hear it: a frantic, fevered whisper by proxy. 

____

The Doctor fears, is _sure,_ that his own eyes betray him. 

____

But Rose draws back, bites her bottom lip in uncertainty. “Or maybe...maybe I misunderstood. Maybe I got it wrong.”

____

He’s hurt her, somehow. Her pink cheeks pale, like all her blood flows out of some unseen wound, leeches all the sparkle out of her eyes. He loves that sparkle, lives for it.

____

He loves her. 

____

She knows that, he thinks, panic bubbling up. Doesn’t she?

____

His hands find her arms, grasping just above her elbows as he leans in. “Rose. The only misunderstanding we are having right now, is you believing there is any point in time, or any place in any universe that I might not want you.”

____

The sparkle returns, becomes a blaze, and the Doctor feels as if his reckless admission has just saved everything and fully imperiled it, all at once. 

____

“Then why are you being so evasive about things?” she asks, on exhale.

____

“Because…” he empties his lungs, runs a hand through his wild hair. “Timelines. I know it sounds like a handy excuse, but whatever happens here can greatly affect our personal history, Rose. The repercussions could be enormous. I can’t say anything more than I already have.”

____

“Alright,” she says, shifting, leaning into him; he can feel her breath on his chin. “I’ll accept you’ve said all you can. I still don’t know if you send me away, or if... if something bad happened, or if I get to give you my forever. But either way…” Rose swallows hard. “You wanted it. Me. Yeah?”

____

He doesn’t dare answer, or even breathe. Her palms plant flat on his chest over each of his hearts, and she absorbs their hammering beat with a nod, like it’s the only answer her question needs. “Either way,” she repeats, lifting up, easing closer (so _close_ ). Her nose slides alongside his, satin like petals. “You’ve already had this, or you wanted to.”

____

His eyes close. Say something, whispers reason. Say _no._

____

His mouth refuses to speak. Funny. All that worry over saying too much, and in the end his destruction arrives over saying too little.

____

His mouth won’t speak- no, it’s got its own agenda, and without another milliseconds’ hesitation his determined lips seek out and find Rose’s. 

____

She meets him with a soft sound of surprise, but responds instantly, eagerly. Inhaling sharply through his nose, he readjusts the angle as she parts her lips, and the kiss deepens, becomes bruising and impatient. Her hands find his hair and his find her waist, and as he clings to her an old, tight ache within him begins to unfurl, his mouth working to expend centuries-worth of pent-up love. 

____

Long minutes tick by as they settle into it, the kiss slowing into unhurried learning, and there’s no room for regret. It would be like feeling remorse over a miracle, a treasure, the stars. All the walls between them have shattered like glass, and his only goal is to get closer to her, closer, to merge their beings into one. 

____

But he can't, at least not without clear intentions and express permission, and overpowering desire to obtain the latter is what makes him finally wrench his mouth from hers. 

____

They tip their foreheads together, panting. “I'm never leaving you,” breathes Rose, like she's read his mind. 

____

A heady, shuddering thrill runs through him, followed by a frigid-water douse of reality. 

____

What has he done? 

____

The Doctor peers down at her, all well-kissed lips and heavy-lidded eyes, and carefully lifts his hands from her hips. “You have to,” he whispers through the terrible ache in his throat. “I can't keep you.”

____

Shock fills her eyes, followed by liquid hurt. “And there's another sentence unfinished,” she says, mouth tight and trembling. “You ‘can't keep me’, now? Or you can't keep me, _ever?”_

____

Sick, the Doctor gazes at her, mute apology in his eyes. He longs to comfort her, reassure her, kiss her again and never stop, but he doesn't dare. They're treading a path that leads to paradox, and he's got to get them off it. Somehow.

____

“So that's it, then?” says Rose, angrily swiping at her eyes. “I don't get a choice?”

____

Things have broken like a bone, and now setting it is going to _hurt._ “You did,” he replies, low. “It’s what you decided.”

____

In an instant she's on her feet, face red and splotchy, her gaze like fire. The Doctor is not sure he's ever seen her so furious. “I would _never_ decide that,” she hurls at him, spinning on her bare heel to march toward the door. “And I’m _through_ talking to you until you stop lying.”

____

“Hold on, where are you going?!”

____

“Out.”

____

He jumps up. “You can’t- it’s storming outside!”

____

“Don’t care.”

____

In a heartbeat he catches her by the elbow. “Stop,” he says. “I’m not letting you go out in that. I’ll...I’ll leave.”

____

Regret and worry instantly cross her face. “No, no, I don’t-”

____

“It’s fine, it’s just rain. It can’t hurt me- and neither can a lightning strike, really, so I’ll just...I’ll give you your space.” 

____

Before she can say another word he’s flown out the door, puddly gravel splashing under his feet as he runs, rain pelting him like an icy curtain of wet despair. It’s so apt, he’s sure he should find some perverse pleasure in it, but no. Its chill doesn’t pity him, nor does it commiserate with the heartbreak that spills from his eyes. 

____

If anything, it’s screaming at him.

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please refrain from murdering the Doctor. Also, I'm flying to the UK in 3 days (first time!!), and I wish I could buy you all presents. Thanks for reading.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kicked my butt, you guys. I'm sorry it took so long. But be assured, I am still very focused on writing this story. Hope you enjoy the new installment.

It isn’t the right sort of night for an outdoor festival. Sundown should have brought some relief, yet it’s still too warm, too sticky, the air too thick and smelling of sweat. It’s too uncomfortable to have fun (not that watching this school exhibition could _be_ fun, under any circumstances) or do much of anything else, really. Including stay home and sleep.

Although a good proportion of the crowd do manage to catch a nice little kip in their seats, notes the Doctor, from where he stands just at the outskirts of it all.

Nope, Rose hasn’t missed out on anything, so far.

In the grey half-darkness a man approaches, a small flaming torch in his hand. “Weather’s not looking too promisin’, eh?” mumbles old Tom Sloane, as he hobbles past the Doctor. 

“Not a cloud,” agrees the Doctor quietly. He watches the elderly man’s hands shake as he puts the flame to the wick of another tiki torch, which ring and illuminate the edges of the enormous, square, canopy-covered seating area. All around, their flames dance and flicker, a pretty glowing contrast to the white light thrown by tonight’s double moons.

Firelight paints Sloane’s lined face ghoulishly as he tips his head back, giving the starry sky a brief, appraising glance. “The rain’ll come,” he declares with unwarranted conviction, and trods off.

With a sigh, the Doctor resumes crowd-watching, guilt poking at him. For all these lovely people, a good rain on festival night means everything: it’s a highly anticipated sign that the coming year will bring a shower of blessings and good favour. 

Even though he doesn’t buy it, he still feels selfish for being glad about the clear skies and bright moonlight. But rain-cover might make it too dark to spot Rose, once she shows up.

If she shows up, he thinks dully, scuffing a boot on the grass. More and more, it’s looking like she won’t. The school exhibition part of the festival’s nearly over, so really, isn’t it high time he resign himself to the fact that she’s not going to be here and focus on his job?

The Doctor glances over his row of students, their neatly combed heads gleaming in the torchlight. Unlike him, they’re seated on the long bench and behaving, polite attention focused on the (rather monotone and dull) historical reenactment taking place on the platform. 

Even so, their restless feet and twitching hands betray their nervousness. As the graduating class, they'll be last to perform, and they’re up next. Have any of them begun to regret the plan to sing? It’s quite possible, especially now that they’ve spent two hours watching all the other classes recite history, spell, or do mental math. 

He wouldn’t really blame them. Even he’s a bit worried about the reaction they’re going to get. But a first step toward change, however small, has got to happen sometime. Tonight’s the night.

He can’t believe Rose is going to...no, _choosing_ to miss it.

A pang goes through the Doctor, sharper than disappointment, and he grits his teeth. He hasn’t laid eyes on Rose since their ill-fated kiss, two long, anxiety-ridden days ago. It’s been near impossible to think of anything else: the give-and-take of her mouth on his, the addictive intimacy of it, unspoken shared feelings stripped bare and exposed. On a loop he relives it, till he’s consumed with want and worry. 

And Rose’s absence tonight has iced it all with a layer of frustration. His class is doing this because of her idea; they’d worked it all up _together._ And she’s going to skip out just because she’s upset with him? More, even though the dimension cannon problem will buy them a few extra days together, they’re still too few, and fleeting. How could she throw another day away?

That’s on you too, Doctor, he reminds himself stoutly. You could’ve sought her out at any time, to talk and smooth things over. 

In actuality, it had been all he could do not to go to her. He longs to fall on his knees, to tell her anything she might want to hear. 

But he can’t bear to lie to her anymore. And he’s too scared to admit the whole truth: what his loss of control means for both of them, how he’s so royally mucked things up. Once he tells her of what he’s got to do next, the only way to fix it…

Grief overwhelms him and his eyes close. He’d like to say she’ll never forgive him, but truth is, once this is all over, Rose won’t feel anything about him at all, good or bad. He’ll press his fingers to her temples and then to a yellow button, and Rose will return to Pete’s World, to her mission and to the rest of her life, her memory of him and this place fading faster than an ill-remembered dream.

A hushed female voice startles him back to reality. “Don’t worry, I’m sure your class will perform well.”

The Doctor blinks to find that Lina Queras has come up beside him. “My class...right. Yes, I’m certain they will.”

“And then we can all enjoy the rest of the festival?” She smiles. It’s a strange, almost feral-looking thing, which he instantly dismisses as a trick of the torchlight.

“Right,” agrees the Doctor half-heartedly, gaze falling on his class again, and the open spot at the end of their bench that’s meant for him. He should go sit down and make himself smile at them. Whisper a few last minute reassurances. 

“Pity your wife’s not here.”

The words are soft, silky, and barbed. The Doctor’s eyes snap to Lina but she’s gazing straight ahead, taking in the neat rows full of students and townspeople. “Pity...what?” 

One slender hand lifts to wipe the sheen of perspiration from her forehead. “Your wife. She must be quite ill, yes, to miss such an occasion? Unless- oh, I do hope she hasn’t injured herself again.”

The undertone she speaks in is perfectly polite, but the Doctor’s eyes narrow. What is this woman playing at now, referring to Rose as his wife? Blimey, what he wouldn’t give to have the TARDIS translate passive-aggression. “What exactly are you asking me, Lina?” he huffs, folding his arms.

She finally meets his eyes -and his challenge- head on. “She is your wife, isn’t she? For what other reason would you be with her in her cottage, alone?”

The Doctor stills, mind racing. How could she…ohhh. “Did you follow me or something? That afternoon a couple of days ago, when I told you I was bringing the fish to Rose?” Fury surges up, though it’s dampened a bit when he remembers the day’s awful rainstorm; it had to have drenched the nosy old spy. Good. “Why in blazes would you follow me?” he presses, forgetting to whisper. 

“Shh,” she hushes, challenge in her eyes briefly flickering. “Don’t turn this around on me, Doctor Smith. Is she -or is she not- your wife?”

As the question, with all its implications, exits her lips, a new potential flashes through the Doctor’s time sense like lightning. His neighbors, horrified. The sad disappointment of his students. This merciless woman taking over his class, goading their minds back into the box he’s been working so hard to free them from. It can’t be allowed to happen, and he’s already so worried about Rose-

“Of course she is,” he hears himself snap. 

Lina’s mouth opens, shuts, and opens again. “She...what? But when did you...”

“Private ceremony, the night when the Phobos moon was new,” he says glibly. It’s as apt a date as any- the night he tended Rose’s ankle. The night he realised how in love with her he still was.

Cold eyes stare at him with lingering suspicion. “But I don’t remember it raining that night.”

With disdain, the Doctor stares back. What is she implying now, that his marriage isn’t blessed or something? “Well, it did rain,” he says, feeling no twinge of conscience over the lie. Anything to get her to shut up and go away. 

In the meager torch-glow he sees her lips go tight with angry determination, and knows that the first chance she gets, she’s going to try to prove him a liar. “Well. You must be really something special.”

Arms crossing, he ignores her and fixes his gaze on the platform. 

Quiet falls, until he begins to hope she’s finally slunk away. But no such luck. “There’s a reason, you know,” she murmurs icily. “A good reason, that they don’t normally choose to be with people like us. But I suppose that’s between you and your conscience.”

His fists clench in anger as he finally gets it- her problem runs deeper than mere jealousy. Rose is not only young and beautiful, she’s a Peacekeeper, her station in society miles above theirs as lowly educators. Yet Queras is not hinting that Rose is too good for him ( _that_ he’d agree with all day long). Rather, the implication is that Rose is too... _not us._

He gulps a breath of the thick air, trembling with the effort it takes to refrain from dealing her a deserved verbal lashing. Prejudice is a trait he despises. And prejudice against Rose…

All at once the crowd comes to life, applauding politely as the group of flushed twelve-year-olds begin to exit the stage. His kids look his way questioningly and he stomps down his fury, pastes on a smile, and motions for them to stand. It’s time. 

On stage, his dozen get into the familiar half-moon formation without any help or hesitation. Standing at their right, the Doctor shrugs on his acoustic guitar and looks out into the sea of bemused but curious faces, hoping...

But she’s nowhere to be seen.

Straightening to his full height, the Doctor steps to the front of the stage, and speaks.

“Our class’ focus in recent weeks has been on the power of words,” he begins, voice carrying in the stillness. “I’m certain you’ll all agree that obtaining competence in reading and writing is a most valuable life-skill, and the backbone of a good education. Without well-chosen words, we can have no real communication, no cooperation, no community.” 

On seeing he has his audience’ full attention, he softens his tone. “And if we cannot express what is deep in our heart, we will lack true connection. Yet, who of us has not struggled with that? What can we do about it?” The Doctor lifts his guitar, holds it aloft for a moment. “For one- we can put our heart’s words to music. You lot already appreciate how a song can teach and motivate. Tonight, this year’s graduating class would like to demonstrate how a song can express love.”

The Doctor moves back into place. His fingers, strong and sure, riff out the vibrant, playful opening notes of the love song Rose had chosen. It’s a colourful contrast to the fog of grey apathy that’s swept over him. 

And the kids sing. The harmonies he’d taught them are less than perfect, yet they ring out bright and enthusiastic and sweet.

_I thought love was only true in fairy-tales_

_Meant for someone else, but not for me_

Funny. Over the last few weeks he’s played this song a hundred times, always fully aware of the aptness of the lyrics. But they’ve never stung like they do now. 

_Disappointment haunted all my dreams_

So he does his best to tune it out, shifting from chord to chord on autopilot until he gets to the bridge- a guitar-solo that never fails to make his class grin at him. Tonight, it seems, is no exception. 

He can't help but smile back, and some clarity returns. This whole thing, it’s not about him and Rose, is it? It’s about them. These kids are taking a risk, no reward guaranteed, because he’s introduced them to the addictive joy of self-expression. Because they’re hoping to spread that joy around. 

As they launch into the final chorus the Doctor’s chest swells with fierce, fierce pride. Pride that only grows once he looks out, for the first time really seeing the audience they’ve been playing to. All crossed arms, and shuttered expressions.

Defiance filling him, the Doctor grins encouragement at his class and plays with heightened energy. Sod it, he thinks, at everyone watching. Sod all of you. These are your own children, and they’re brilliant; what’ve you got to be offended over? At the very least, can’t you appreciate how hard they’ve worked-

And then, in the sea of stubborn unresponsiveness, he sees it.

A smile.

Closed-lipped and soft, the smile is not overbright, more moonlight than sunlight, but it still manages to conquer the dark with ease. 

_Then I saw her face, now I’m a believer_

Their eyes meet, and the Doctor’s fingers fumble over the strings. Rose sits alone in the middle of his class’ long empty bench, the heat making her cheeks far pinker than the softly clinging dress she’s wearing. Her gold hair is swept into a low side-knot, all starred with tiny flowers, and she’s a vision. A figment of his fevered mind. 

A delicious gust of air blows in, ruffling his hair and cooling his cheeks. 

_Now I’m a believer yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah_

Another gust of air, sharper, and colder. It’s followed by a long, low, peal of thunder.

_I’m a believer_

With a whoosh, the night releases the breath it’s been holding, and rain slams hard into the canopy overhead. 

The effect on the townspeople is dramatic. Energy ripples through almost visibly, and tight-set faces begin to open like flowers. There’s lots of confusion at first...but smiles quickly follow, ungrudging and surprised and all aimed at his kids. 

The Doctor nearly laughs. All because it’s raining. Now they believe some deity or other is pleased, and this performance is getting all the credit. Fine by him!

The last notes die away to polite clapping, water pours and drips in silver streams from the edges of the canopy, and Rose is beaming. Sharing in his success. 

It’s too much, having so many weights cut off him so suddenly, and he’s not so sure he won’t float away. It’s all he can do to stay in place as the school exhibition’s closing words are offered. But at last the townspeople begin to get up, stretching and chatting and laughing. The Doctor wastes no time, quickly praising his class for a job well done before he beelines straight for her.

Rose watches his approach, and though she bites her lip as he sinks down beside her on the rough bench, her eyes are warm. He feels lighter still. If she hasn’t quite forgiven him yet, she wants to.

For a beat or two he just soaks her in, her sweet eyes and lips and soft, soft skin and god, he’s missed her. 

“That was beautiful, Doctor,” Rose says sincerely, smoothing her skirt over her knees. “‘M so glad the audience came round at the end. They were making me nervous.”

“Me too,” he replies, and wonders why he feels oddly vulnerable, like he’s only half-dressed. “Ehm. I think this well-timed storm certainly helped.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, right. I forgot how they believe rain is a sign of approval from the gods.”

“Not sure there’s any deities involved, actually. All I’ve ever heard are people referring to it as ‘the blessed rain’.” He scratches his head. “Anyway, we performed and nobody’s trying to arrest me, so I’m calling it a win. I’m just happy to be done with those practise sessions.”

“Why? I thought you loved it?”

“Well, mostly, but every time we’d start up I couldn’t help but remember how you thought that song was written by Smash Mouth. Think I might be suffering from post-traumatic stress.”

“Oh, shush,” says Rose as she swats his arm. “Your memory’s faulty. I said it was from Shrek.”

It’s brilliant to share a laugh with her, to banter with her, but that feeling of vulnerability only intensifies. He crosses his arms over his chest, but it doesn't help. “I’m so glad you’re here. I...thought you weren’t coming.”

Her eyes find her lap. “I sort of wanted you to think that.”

“Well, I deserve that much, and more. Rose, I...I’m so sorry for the other night.”

Rose looks up, and her frown surprises him. “Sorry for what part?”

“For, well. For losing control.”

Her frown becomes a scowl. “That is _not_ what I want you to apologise for.”

The Doctor swallows. One tiny white flower has come loose from her knot of hair, dangling by its delicate stem, and he itches to reach out and rescue it. To take advantage of the excuse to touch. He swallows again, her mouth drawing his gaze like a magnet, and...oh. He knows why he feels like this, so disconcertingly exposed. 

The old wall of ambiguity is gone. Felled by one kiss. 

(One kiss? Oh, come off it, Doctor, call it what it is. A snog session.)

And now there’s nothing to hide behind anymore. Case in point: Rose is bloody irritated with him, and still the air between them buzzes like it’s come alive, blimey. It’s about all he can do not to ‘lose control’ all over again, here and now.

Forcing his eyes to hers, he finds them dark, soft, full of new comprehension. Wisely, Rose puts a little more space between them on the bench. ”Doctor,” she says, “you told me I left you, just up and left you of my own free will. Now I don’t think you expected me to actually believe that, so why did you say it?”

Because it’s true, thinks the honest part of him. But his selfish part, determined to have her smile at him for a few more hours, is not about to ruin things with more ill-timed revelations. “You’re right,” he replies, contritely. “It was a hurtful thing to say. And I...I truly didn’t expect you to believe it. Forgive me?”

“Course I will. But...” Rose glances around. Most of the crowd has dispersed, braving the rain to get to the food tent, so she surreptitiously hooks her fingers with his. “Don’t you think we need to talk? About the cannon, and...things.” Chin lifting, she looks him square in the eye. “Like why you freaked out after we kissed.”

Her bluntness takes him aback, but he nods. “We do need to talk. But...can it wait? Just...just until the festival’s over. A few unspoilt hours, Rose, that’s all I’m asking.”

Rose looks unsure, but then she smiles. “Alright.”

“Brilliant,” he says, popping to his feet, hauling her to hers. “I’m starving. You?”

“Yeah- oh, do I smell fish?” They come to the edge of the sheltering canopy, and he watches Rose grin as she stretches an arm out, palm flat to catch the pelting rain. Ahead of them, across a long stretch of grass, stands the food tent, warmly-lit and inviting. The hum of fiddles float over from it, as does the distinctive scent of frying fish.

“Pretty sure fish is the main course,” states the Doctor enthusiastically, poking his own hand out in the wet. Rose wrinkles her nose, and he squints at her. “Since when don’t you like fish?”

She gives him a stern, but twinkling-eyed look. “Since somebody left a whole bunch of them laying in my sink. I had to clean them myself. It was disgusting.” 

“Oh,” he says, at once both impressed and guilt-stricken. “Sorry, I-”

“Run!” Rose shouts, seizing his arm, causing him to stumble forward into the shower of warm rain. Gasping, he blinks the water from his eyes to find her already darting away, laughing devilishly.

“Oi!” he shouts back, giving chase. 

He bursts into the busy food tent not five seconds behind her, but in true Rose fashion, she’s already managed to disappear. Panting and wet and unable to suppress a grin, he halts near the open entrance, uncaring of the odd looks he’s earning as he looks around, hoping to spot her amid the rows of crowded picnic tables. 

“My my,” comes a prim voice from behind him. “Have you been running around in the rain, Doctor Smith?”

The Doctor’s smile widens as he turns around. Rose is standing not even six feet away, near the wall of the tent, affecting a proper, lady-like air in spite of deeply flushed cheeks and dancing eyes. “Rather childish for a man your age, wouldn’t you agree?”

Still grinning, he begins to advance on her, slowly looking her over. Rose is just as wet as he is, her sandals dirty, dress’ hem speckled with mud. Her lips bunch tighter with every step he takes, in an admirable attempt not to laugh. 

“Nah,” he says, once he’s as close as he dares get in public. “No point in being grown-up if you can’t be childish sometimes.”

Rose hums, smile breaking free. “Glad you think so, cos I want cake for dinner.”

His brows draw a bit at that one, but she’s already sauntering away. “Two pieces. You’ll fetch it for me, yeah?” she calls over, finding an empty place on a picnic table bench. “I’ll save you a seat!”

The Doctor shakes his head wryly, but obeys anyway.

When he returns with the requested amount of cake (as well as some roasted potatoes and veggies he’ll insist she eat) he finds Rose is deep in conversation with the two women seated across from her. One of them appears to be in her late fifties, grey streaking from her temples to her bun of dark hair, while the other is nearer Rose’s age. Freckles dust her nose and her eyes are large and thickly lashed. 

“...oh wow,” Rose is saying, as he leans over her shoulder to set the plates on the table. The two women look up at him. “That’s lovely. So are you the eldest daughter, then?”

He nudges Rose to slide over, and she finally notices him. “Oh, there you are!” she exclaims, ignoring her cake as she makes space on the bench. Rose’s eyes are round and gleaming, like she’s all worked up about something. “Doctor, this is Willa and Kae; they’re family to Mali. Her mother and sister.” 

Though Doctor does not quite share Rose’s excitement (mostly because now he’s also got to share her attention) he offers a broad smile as he sits down. “Lovely to finally meet you. I’m Doctor Smith, Mali’s teacher. She’s a wonderful student- a favourite of mine if I’m honest.”

“Mali speaks of you often,” replies the younger woman, the one Rose had pointed out as Willa. “I dare say she’s never been so fond of a teacher. And she’s been quite excited about the exhibition tonight, though she refused to breathe a word of what the class had planned. Now I understand why. Wonderful job, Doctor Smith.”

“Thank you.”

“Though I must admit,” Willa goes on, trying to smooth down dark curls hopelessly frizzed by the humidity, “that song has been nagging at me. ‘I’m a Believer.’ For my life, I can’t recall where I’ve heard it before. Will you please remind me, and put me out of my misery?”

The Doctor hesitates. He doesn’t want to embarrass this nice young lady, but she’s surely imagining things.

Willa seems to catch on, and grimaces. “Oh dear, my apologies. It was an original composition, wasn’t it?”

“Nah,” he replies, with a small laugh. “Pretty sure it came from a bunch of monkeys.”

Rose snickers, but Willa’s face lights up. “Yes,” she says, looking to the older woman beside her for confirmation. “That’s right, isn’t it, Kae?”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know, Mother,” Kae replies patiently, carefully getting up from the table. “I’m going for a slice of cake. Lovely to meet you all.”

Willa nods, Kae goes, and the Doctor voices his confusion. “What’d she call you ‘mother’ for? She looks to be about three decades older than you.”

Rose squeezes his knee so hard he jumps. “Sorry, Willa. He can be a bit rude, this one. An’ thick,” she adds, giving him a pointed look. “Willa’s an ahionio, remember? Mali’s mentioned that.”

“Right, but I didn’t actually bel-”

“So, the song,” Rose cuts in loudly, gifting him another pinch before leaning toward Willa on elbows. “It’s so funny that you recognise it, cos though it was really popular where I grew up, I’ve never heard anything like it around here. How long have you lived in this village?” 

Willa thinks, absently picking up her half-eaten slice of bread. “It’s silly, how hard a time I have remembering such things. Let’s see, Mali was born when I was in my one-eighties...suppose I’m pushing two hundred now,” she concludes, nose scrunching in embarrassment. “And I’ve lived here all my life.”

“You’re nearly two-hundred?” replies Rose warmly. “Aw, that’s nothing compared to some people I’ve met!”

Of course, she punctuates her little joke with a poke to his leg, and the Doctor shoots her a withering, sidelong look as he scoops a forkful of potatoes into his mouth. Might as well eat if Rose thinks he’s too rude to join the conversation. Besides, it’s not like she needs his help- her skillful questioning and disarming charm have got Willa freely sharing her personal history, and as he listens, it’s hard not to grin in admiration. If pop songs from Earth are indeed traversing the cosmos to this planet, Rose will find out how.

But by the time he’s finished his plate, his interest in what he’s hearing is real, and it has nothing to do with mystery music. Willa’s actually got him wondering if she might really as old as she says she is. But how is that possible?

Well, hasn’t he got his own way of obtaining good intel? To make sure Rose is paying him no mind, the Doctor digs his fork into one of her untouched pieces of cake, and when she doesn’t react, his other hand sneaks into his coat pocket. His screwdriver is found, liberated, and then aimed under the table at Willa.

Two beats later, Rose kicks him in the ankle. 

“Ow!” he yelps, gaping at her. “What was that for?”

“You know what. And stop eating my cake.” Rose gives him a brief but meaningful glare that says she’s on to him, though how she heard the sonic’s whirr in all this hubbub is beyond him. He can barely even hear himself think.

Mali rushes up to their table, a whirlwind of skirts and brown braids and big eyes, and begins to climb into the spot her sister had vacated. Not one to miss an opportunity, the Doctor scans her as well, earning a second kick from Rose. 

“So it’s true?” Mali gasps as she plonks down, more excited than the Doctor’s ever seen her. “You two really got married?”

His smile of welcome freezes, only half-formed on his face, and he hears Rose’s soft gasp. 

It is probably not a gasp of delight.

As her mother chides her, Mali’s gaze darts between him and Rose in sudden dismay. “Oh, no. Guessing I’m not supposed to know about that? I...I overheard Mrs. Dewey talking about it,” she explains hastily when he doesn’t respond. “And yes, I know she’s a gossip but since she’s your neighbor, I thought maybe…well, and then I saw you two sitting together…”

Queras, he thinks darkly, cursing the woman for her petty vengeance, cursing himself for not foreseeing this. His gaze slowly refocuses to find Mali watching him, her face pinched and worried. It occurs to the Doctor that might be a good sign- perhaps he appears to be more upset about this than Rose is?

Not that he’s brave enough to look and see for himself. Instead, his fingers seek out Rose’s wrist, and he delivers a hasty telepathic promise to explain things to her ASAP. Then he clears his throat. “Ehm. It’s not meant to be public knowledge.”

His face is hot, and he sounds every bit as embarrassed as he feels. Rose stiffens a little in surprise, but she lets the lie stand.

Understanding and sympathy gleam in Willa’s eyes. “Congratulations,” she says. “I wasn’t certain if you were together, or if you just wanted… Anyway, as you both know, not many people make such a choice. But that doesn’t make it wrong, not at all. I’m happy for you.”

The Doctor’s confusion must show on his face. “Professor,” explains Mali, “remember how I told you, Mother was married to a human once too? She understands what it’s like.”

“It was a long time ago,” adds Willa, before he can even begin to react. “My first marriage. People had their opinions, but I could never regret him. I loved him.”

Rose slides the plates out of her way and leans in, seeming just as thrown by all this as he is. “Wait a mo’, why do you think the Doctor’s not human?”

Mali gives her a strange look. “No, that’s not- I mean, that’s the problem, isn’t it? People always think ahionios should only marry other ahionios, and he’s not one. Isn’t that why you’ve kept your marriage a secret?”

“But I’m not an ahionio either,” says Rose immediately, stealing the words from the Doctor’s mouth. “I’m as human as you. My parents were human.”

Willa and Mali share a long, troubled look, and then Mali speaks to her mother in a low voice. “She had a bad concussion, not too long ago.”

“Oi,” says Rose, growing visibly upset. “My head’s not muddled.” 

“Of course it’s not,” the Doctor jumps in, upset that Rose is upset. Laying a reassuring hand firmly on Rose’s lower back, he glares at Mali from under his eyebrows. “She says she’s human, why can’t you just believe her?”

Mali gazes back at him with clear, frank eyes. “Okay, so if I say I’m a horse, will you ‘just believe’ me?”

“It’s hardly the same thing!” he snaps, astounded at the cheek of her.

She flinches, looking hurt, and the Doctor pauses to calm himself. “Look. I don’t know how this...this rumour about Rose got started, if it was a misunderstanding, or someone trying to make more trouble for us. But please hear me now- Rose is not some immortal being. And she and I would like to enjoy the rest of the evening, so can we all just drop it?”

“Professor,” Mali says slowly, “ahionios aren’t immortal, they’re just very long-lived, and it’s not a rumour. Nobody told Mother and I… I mean, anyone who looks at Rose can easily see what she is.”

Snippets of past odd comments about Rose flood the Doctor’s mind, suddenly clear in the light of this information, and he stills. Certain as he is that Rose is mortal, Mali is not wrong about this bit.

“What is it about her?” he demands, already sure Rose bears no telling mark, no odd energy signature. “What exactly do you see?”

“I...I don’t know,” Mali says, picking up and then dropping an abandoned fork. “Why is the sun hot? Why is the grass green? I can’t explain it; it just is. It’s...can’t you see it in her face? It’s like Mother’s.”

“Well, she looks completely human too,” he retorts, trying to tamp down his frustration. “If I hadn’t met her sixty-year-old daughter, I wouldn’t believe she wasn’t!”

“It’s in their _face,_ ” Mali repeats stubbornly. “Not how they look.”

The Doctor pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh yes, that makes perfect sense. Thank you for clearing things up so nicely.” 

“Don’t be rude,” Rose rebukes him, and looks at Willa. “Alright, so how did you find out?” she asks. “From your parents or something? They can see it when you’re born?”

“I never had parents, dear,” Willa tells Rose gently. “And you couldn’t have had any either. Ahionios are the children of the rain.”

“But I _do_ have-”

There’s an odd hitch in Rose’s voice, and that’s that; the Doctor has had enough. “Alright,” he says, abruptly getting to his feet, urging Rose to do the same. They need answers, but all Mali and her mother have to offer is more questions. “It’s been quite the enlightening evening, but Rose and I need to get home now.”

“But the dance hasn’t even started yet,” says Mali, offering him a small, apologetic smile.

“Yeah, but here’s a life lesson for ya,” says Rose, as she takes his offered hand. “‘S not ever too wise to pick dancing over talking. Take it from us.”

They exit the tent onto soggy ground, but the rain has stopped and the night is considerably cooler. Rose leans into him a little as they make their way toward town, and he can’t tell if she’s looking for warmth or comfort or reassurance. 

Happy to provide any and all, he drops her hand in favour of draping his arm around her shoulders. And then, when Rose briefly turns her face into his shoulder and breathes him in, he almost forgets that this night hasn’t quite been the magical last hurrah he’s had his hearts so set on. 

Neither of them speaks a word as they amble into town, and before too long they come upon one of the big village fountains. Formed from a grouping of huge stones carved like craggy mountains, it has strategically placed waterfalls that cascade into an irregularly shaped pool, a replica of the holy lake. It bubbles and swirls and it is beautiful, and as they get close the Doctor pauses, still unable to decide if it truly qualifies as art. 

Rose goes and perches on its wide stone rim, turns her face to the sky. “So,” she says to the moons. “We’re married, huh?”

Though she seems normal enough, he can’t help but wince. On their walk, he’d finally had a moment to analyse his feelings of foreboding on this issue, and found that he’s not all that embarrassed, or even much worried that she’ll be upset. But it might play as one major mixed signal. First he tells her he can’t keep her, and now he’s got them publically married? 

What if Rose is hoping he’s changed his mind? Hoping he might allow her to stay with him?

He’d hardly blame her, especially with how he’s been acting tonight. 

Unreservedly besotted.

Yet at this point, it seems not only stupid but hurtful to try to raise back up that false facade of friendship. Even before they’d kissed, the pretense had never fooled Rose. Distancing himself now will do far more harm than good.

What difference does it make? mocks his inner voice. Happiness or heartbreak; you’ll rob her of all of it soon enough.

“Doctor?” he hears Rose ask, and he sees she’s studying him. “Are you alright?”

The Doctor sighs, then manages a smile. “Sorry. I didn’t plan to lie about us, but…” He sighs again. “It was that sodding Lina Queras’ fault. She followed me to your cottage the other evening, and saw...well, I’m not quite sure what she saw, but it was enough. She ambushed me with it tonight, backed me into a corner, and- oi, are you laughing at me?”

At that, Rose dissolves into giggles. “It’s just so funny- I wanted to suggest we tell people we were married when you started staying with me, so we wouldn’t have to worry about anything like this. But I was sure you’d freak out. And now you’re the one who…” She trails off, and gives him a cheeky, tongue-in-teeth grin.

He smiles back crookedly. “Rose Tyler,” he says, relieved that she’s taking this whole “marriage” thing as purely practical. “Clever girl.”

“You know it.” Rose pats the space next to her, and the Doctor goes and sits obediently. “Though I wish I was clever enough to figure out why everybody seems to think I’m one of their ahionio-people. But I can’t make sense of it at all.”

He runs a hand down his face. “I can’t either.”

“But I’m not, right? You’re sure?”

The churn and splash of the fountain fills the air as he takes a bit too long to answer. “You can’t be.”

It comes out sounding less than confident, and the Doctor feels Rose’s gaze on him. He glances over, hearts skipping when he sees her brows drawn in suspicion.

“There is only one reason why you would not be 100% certain about that, Doctor,” she says, slowly. 

The Doctor flinches, immediately spotting his slip-up. 

“The other night,” Rose goes on, rubbing at her forehead, “you said ‘yes’ when I asked point-blank if I stay with you. Then you contradicted yourself and said I don’t, by my own bloody choice I might add, which, just an hour ago, you admitted was a lie. But now, I know for a fact that you have never seen me die. You don’t know anything at all about my life in future, do you? Cos if you did, this ahionio thing wouldn’t even be a question.” 

“I haven’t seen you die,” he admits in a halting whisper. “And it’s the only part I don’t regret.”

For a few tense moments, his words hang heavy in the space between them. He's not so sure Rose is breathing, until she speaks again. “So you sent me back to Pete’s World,” she says dully. “Is it too late to fix things?”

His head falls, half a nod of affirmation, but then a brand-new fear slithers like ice down his spine. The chance is a million to one, but what if Mali is right about Rose? What if the ‘human life’ he's gifted her with is really abandonment? It’s one thing to doom himself to centuries of loss and loneliness, but-

“The scans,” he recollects aloud, just before his swirling thoughts get completely away from him. He turns to Rose, wide-eyed. “How did I forget? I never checked the results of those scans.”

Fumbling for his screwdriver, he holds it vertically aloft and checks the telepathic readout. The most recent results are immediately displayed- Mali’s.

“Well, Mali has pure human DNA,” he murmurs, squinting at it. 

“Alright… but isn’t it her mother we’re wondering about?”

The Doctor nods, staring into the air with unfocused eyes. “Right, but now I know for certain what the norm here is.” With some trepidation, he flicks the sonic to bring up the earlier result. 

Relief floods him as he gets his first glimpse of it, the familiar double-helix swirl of Willa’s DNA. Exhaling heavily, he takes Rose’s hand, projecting the image he sees.

A few seconds pass. “Oh my god,” says Rose. “What’s it doing that for?”

His eyebrows frown at her. “It’s not doing anything. It’s normal human DNA.”

“Right, but why’s it twisting the wrong way?”

The Doctor sucks a breath. She’s right. Instead of the normal right-handed screw of DNA, this strand’s going anti-clockwise. “That’s impossible,” he declares adamantly, as if his saying so will make it less true. “There’s no such thing as left-twisting DNA. And even if there were, there’s no reason it should indicate a drastically extended lifespan.”

Rose sighs, and his gaze goes to her face. She doesn’t look anywhere near as disbelieving as she ought to be. “Alright, so scan me now,” she says matter-of-factly. “That’s the point of this, right? Scan me, and if I’m like Willa, then we know something about this planet can change people, yeah?”

She doesn’t say what they’re both thinking, as he aims the screwdriver at her with a trembling hand. That if she’s like Willa, his past decision to return her to the parallel world was not just heavy-handed and presumptuous (if well-intentioned), but rather a screw-up of colossal proportions.

How colossal, however, doesn’t hit him until the scan’s results appear before his incredulous eyes. 

Until this moment, the Doctor has never truly feared that Rose Tyler could someday learn to hate him.

“So that’s that, then,” says Rose, even though he hasn’t said a word yet. Why is she still so calm? How is she not entirely furious with him? “No ‘withering and dying’ for this little human, after all.”

Okay. So she’s definitely a little bit angry. Dropping the screwdriver onto his lap, the Doctor slumps forward, knees on elbows. “I’m sorry, Rose. I am so, so sor-”

“Shut up,” she tells him, taking his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “We’re not doing this now, all these apologies and things, when it’s time for you to think. Okay? Like, we need to figure out what happened to make me this way. Or, what if I’m only like this here, and I’m normal back home?”

His spirits lift momentarily, but then he shakes his head. “No. Your DNA’s changed, Rose. It can’t just...just switch back.”

Slowly nodding, she absorbs that. She’s still far too...fine. 

The Doctor can’t take it anymore. “Rose. How can you be so accepting of this?”

Rose rolls her eyes. “Doctor. I just found out that I might live as long as you. Isn’t that the best news we’ve ever gotten? Especially since I refuse to accept that we can’t spend our lives together. No matter how stupid the past you was.”

Her hand lifts, and she jabs at him. “You’re the Doctor, so you’re gonna do what you do best and fix this mess, yeah? Even before I knew all this, I was so bloody tired of hearing it, you and your stupid ‘whatever happened has to happen’. So hear this- _I don’t want it to,”_ Rose concludes emphatically, punctuating each of the last five words with a poke to his chest.

The Doctor catches her hand, squeezes it tight. “Honestly, Rose?” he replies, staring at her intensely as his brain finally begins to chug to life. “I don’t know if it _can._ ”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big conversations ahead. I honestly have no clue what you are going to think. But I'm so grateful for your patience with my overly delayed update. I adore you all. <3

A few more seconds pass as the Doctor continues to stare at Rose, his mind racing to confirm what his gut had known instantly.

Lifespans. 

On that day, one of the worst of his life, had it not all come down to the lifespans? From the moment that old hand in a jar became a new new new Doctor, his singular life matching him to Rose just like the blue of their jackets, the story’s end had been obvious to the Doctor. Onto him was bestowed the power to give the woman he loved everything- her family, a TARDIS, adventure, and a better version of himself, a version who could spend his whole life with her. A version who could not only receive her forever, but promise it back.

So he gave her up and he’s paid dearly for it, her absence like a soul-debt that he’ll never be done owing, but he’s never once had cause to second guess that decision. Not until now.

“Wait,” says Rose, interrupting his thoughts. “What do you mean, ‘you don’t know if it _can’?_ You’ve been telling me and telling me that whatever happened between you and I in your past can’t be changed, so I figured we’d at least have to get really clever about it and now, what? Now it’s all simple?”

“Yes.” It comes out full of conviction, though in truth he hardly knows what he’s saying. He’s barely even begun to wrap his mind around what this ‘simple’ solution will change. What it will mean. 

The look Rose gives him is guarded. “Don’t suppose you’re gonna explain?”

The Doctor blinks slowly, focuses on her, and tries to think. “I’ll have to,” he replies, tentatively. “We’ll need a solid plan, so…” Pausing again, he re-weighs his conclusion before he repeats it. “Yes. You’ll need to know what’s coming.”

Going wide-eyed, Rose waits, swirling a finger in the fountain’s pool. The Doctor gets the impression that she’s afraid that if she speaks now, he won’t.

“Let’s walk,” suggests the Doctor as he springs to his feet, already twitchy and nervous and restless.

Rose nods, and willingly takes his outstretched hand. 

The cloud-cover has broken, twin moons peeking through to illuminate their path as they traverse the main road of the village. Water pools deep on the cobbles in the many low spots, and the two are silent as they carefully tiptoe and hop to avoid the worst puddles. But it’s good- the Doctor's mind has always worked best when he's moving anyway, and so he uses the time to force himself to take these new, wild hopes of his and shove them under a microscope. 

But as he searches for holes or flaws and finds none, the hope breathes and grows. It spreads like fire, quickly becoming a firm conviction that literally staggers him.

_I’m going to keep you._

“You alright?” asks Rose, eyeing him in concern as he steadies himself.

The Doctor nods dumbly, staring at her with lips pressed tight, afraid the ecstatic, possessive statement might escape him prematurely.

“So...we gonna wait to talk till we get to your place?” The cobbled road forks just ahead, and she gestures to the left lane, the one that will lead them to his cottage. Houses and trees dot all along it, and the home nearest them is bordered by a trim white fence. Rose wrinkles up her nose as she spots a dark silhouette in one glowing window. “That’s probably best. At least all your nosy neighbors believe we’re married now; remind me to thank dear Ms. Queras for making our lives a bit easier.”

‘Married’. Another jolt of elation goes through him. Their marriage is a farce but it won’t be for long, because _he’s going to keep her,_ and- 

This time the breathless thought strikes some sense into him, funnily enough. Nothing’s fixed yet. And it won’t be, not without some big-time talking and planning and carrying-out. Rose still has to go back, for Rassilon’s sake. Temporarily, yes, but since her saving of reality is crucial to the timeline, he’s got to tread very carefully until after it happens. To vow eternal love and commitment is one thing, but the (less-ethereally, more-literally) permanent bind of a real Gallifreyan marriage is another entirely. Having a new mental enmeshment severed by the Void is not his idea of fun.

Rose tugs him along to the left, toward his cottage, but no no no, he can’t be alone with her there, can he? Not while he’s like this, all… emotional and overeager and untrustworthy.

“Wait,” he says, digging his heels in. “Let’s take this other road- it leads to the river.”

“The river?” she repeats doubtfully, as he starts them down the narrower, dirtier path to the right. “Why?”

“I…” he thinks fast. “That house is too small. Suffocating. And… and it’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” she replies, one sandal momentarily sticking in a muddy patch. They make their way down the slope and enter the thick woods. It’s darker, cooler, all rustling leaves and buzzing insects, and the packed dirt road is wet and slick. Rose drops his hand in favour of clutching his arm for balance. “It’s just- are you that nervous about telling me what happened? Scared of how I’ll react?”

“No, I’m just...I’m not sure where to start.”

Rose sighs impatiently. “Does it go something like, ‘I thought I had no choice but to send you back to Pete’s World with your family, Rose. I thought a normal life with them would be far better for you than a mad, dangerous life with me. I thought if you stayed, I’d eventually lose you anyway. I _thought.’_ ”

Shaking his head, the Doctor pauses them. He takes hold of Rose’s elbows and looks her straight in the eye. “No. That’s not how it went.”

“Spin things however you like, but the fact remains that you still sent me-”

“No,” he inserts roughly, and as Rose falls silent he runs a hand through his hair, grappling for words. It’s time for him to be open, honest, and bare parts of his soul that he never thought he’d let her see. That vulnerable feeling has returned with a vengeance. 

“After I lost you at Canary Wharf,” he begins, hooking a finger in his collar and forcing himself to keep his eyes on hers, “I swore to myself that if I had to do it all over, if I ever got a second chance with you, I was going to be _selfish._ I wasn’t going to do a thing for your own good. I meant to keep you, say all the things to you that I ought not, and just let the chips fall where they may. And then when that second chance did come around, Rose, I swear I didn't even hesitate, but…”

Thin, watery moonlight sifts through through the black lacy ceiling of leaves and branches, gleaming off the sudden sheen in Rose’s eyes. It’s a soft sheen, with glints of surprise and pleasure, and the Doctor suspects his honest declaration might’ve won him a hug if not for the word he’d trailed off with.

That part has her bracing herself. “But?” she prompts softly.

“There was a twist. One that even I could never have predicted.”

As Rose waits, eyebrows raising, the Doctor swallows and looks down. _“Him.”_

There’s a quick, sharp inhale, and he grimaces on finding she’s glaring at him. 

“It’s not like that,” he backtracks, anxiously yanking an overhanging tree branch, then letting it spring upward. “It’s about a million times more complicated. It’s going to sound mad, actually, so… will you please let me get the whole story out before you say anything?”

Rose considers him, gaze softening, and he can tell she’s picked up on how reluctant he is to relive this. “Yeah, alright.” She reaches out for his hand and he takes it, giving her a small, grateful smile.

“I’ve still got to be careful how much I tell you,” he says, as they start trudging toward the river again. “You haven’t lived any of this yet, and if you know too much, things might change, even if you don’t mean them to. Anyway. On the day you find me again, something major happens. It’s...an accident, I suppose, and it’s completely unexpected, and by completely I mean _completely._ As far as I know, it’s never happened before in the universe, and isn’t much likely to happen again, and so-”

“You’re rambling, Doctor,” she interrupts, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “What was the accident?”

He takes a breath, and then blurts it out. “Another me was created.”

Rose freezes in place, and looks like he’s just slapped her. “Sorry?”

“A second me,” he repeats. “A duplicate. It’s a long, complicated story that I’ve got to skip the details of, but by the time the dust settled that day there were two Doctors. Both in the form of my hyperactive tenth self.” The Doctor smiles grimly. “Donna was less than delighted.”

Rose doesn’t acknowledge his attempt at levity. She stares into the air, a deep line between her brows, and he can see her quick intuitive mind piecing things together, drawing conclusions. “That explains so much,” she murmurs at length. Her eyes zero in on him sharply, and she lets go of him to cross her arms over her chest. “That’s why you kept claiming I stay with you. But the whole truth is, it’s not with _you_ , you. You left me with him. Why would you _do_ that?”

It’s more accusation than question, simmering with indignation. Rose would be all-out furious with him, he’s sure, but for the fact that he’s already admitted this is an enormous mistake that he’s got to rectify. “So many things played into it,” the Doctor responds, and though he’s aiming for placating, it comes out rather defensive. “It wasn’t just because I thought you’d be better off near your family. Although that was a definite plus. Best of both worlds.”

“No, it’s not!” she retorts in disbelief. “An’ hearing stuff like that come out of your mouth makes it very tough for me to believe I was given any real choice in the matter. There is no way I ever knowingly pick your clone over you!”

The Doctor drags a hand down his face. “Right, but... that’s the thing. He wasn’t a clone, Rose. He was me, literally me. I know that’s difficult to understand, but please believe me when I say that there is no way I’d have left you with him if he wasn’t.” 

“So-” Rose gives her head a little shake, eyes squeezing shut, like she’s trying to process this. “So what you're telling me is there was no difference at all between the two of you? Cos that’s not possible, and it still doesn’t explain-”

“Oh, we were different,” he drawls out, jaw clenching as he recalls the sick devastation he’d felt on first discovering it. “I might have been the original, but he had an advantage over me, one thing that was so, so...” -the Doctor grasps at the air, trying and failing to find a term to suitably describe the enormity of it- “...so _big_ that it was like he was bloody custom-made for you!”

Slapping at an insect, Rose frowns. “What do you mean?”

“He was part-human, Rose,” he says, his tone as weighty as the facts he’s revealing. “He had a human lifespan.”

She studies him for a long moment. “So up till tonight, that’s why you’ve believed he should have me? Because he’s the one who wouldn’t have to watch me die?”

There is still a hint of challenge in her voice and the Doctor pinches the bridge of his nose, frustrated that she’s not catching on. “No, that wasn’t why- haven’t you been paying attention to what I’ve been saying at all?”

Gathering his courage, he paces away a few steps, then returns and bends close. “I left you with him, Rose,” he explains, slow and deliberate, gazing intently into her eyes, “because he was the one who could vow to spend the entirety of his life with you, to devote it to you. He was the one with the power to give you what you deserved. How could I possibly deny you that, when I wanted you to be happy more than I wanted to breathe?”

Tears flood Rose’s eyes as she stares at him in shock, but it’s the ragged breath she takes that drives his last shard of reticence straight into the ground. “And ironic as it is,” he barrels on, “finding I had the strength to walk away from you; being willing, for the first time in my life, to sacrifice everything I cared about for another person, that’s what made me finally understand --truly, properly understand-- how much I really loved you!”

His head spins and his lungs heave for air, but he only gets a fraction of a breath, a few grains of time to process the magnitude of what he’s just admitted aloud, before it’s all blotted out by Rose’s lips on his. 

Her mouth is soft but her kiss is fierce, a clashing, clear, return declaration, one the Doctor accepts with glad, greedy relief. Sliding one hand round the nape of her neck, he threads his fingers into her hair, tilting her head up, taking what’s his. Lets himself be taken.

_I’m going to keep you._

The thought rings out and they’re so close, minds bundled together as tight as their bodies, that he’s not sure if it’s his or hers. Easing from the kiss, the Doctor slides his thumbs over the apples of Rose’s cheeks, finding wetness there. His eyes slit open and he peers at her in concern. “Happy tears, I hope?”

Rose snorts and draws away, wiping her eyes, but then she hauls off and smacks his arm. “Idiot.”

“What?”

“So you love me enough to make that sacrifice for me, but you’re stupid if you think I love you any less! How could you believe I could ever really be happy, knowing you weren’t?”

His eyes find his boots. “I had to believe it.”

“Well, if you had bothered to talk to me beforehand, ask me how I felt, I’d have pointed out that massive flaw in your logic.”

Discomfort creeps over him, at odds with the giddy high he’s still riding from their kiss. Rose is voicing an old phantom fear of his, one that even the passage of centuries could never quite wear away. Yet at the same time, he’s almost feared the opposite more. The idea of a Rose who didn’t worry about him, didn’t wonder, didn’t feel just a little bit empty at his absence? He can scarcely bear to imagine it. A piece of her heart came with him when he left; he's had to believe that. It’s only fair, after all. She possesses both of his.

“Well, it hardly matters now,” he finally says, making a dismissive gesture. “There's no need for any waterworks over it, because it’s not going to happen. Your lifespan matches mine, not his.”

Rose shakes her head. “But how are you gonna fix it? Make sure the other you’s never created or something?”

“That would be simplest,” he acknowledges. “But unfortunately, it’s not an option. His creation is...critical to the timeline. Everything still has to happen just as it did. Reality gets saved, goodbyes get said, and then my past self will deliver you, your mum, and my duplicate to Pete’s World. Back to Bad Wolf Bay again, specifically,” he tacks on with a tiny cringe, afraid she might hit him again for that one. “But the old me still has to leave in the TARDIS. You do understand that, right, Rose? Much as I’d like to fly straight out of here to tell him what I’ve just found out about you, so he’ll make the right decision, I can’t. I can’t rewrite my own history.” 

“I understand,” she assures him. “So what are you planning, then?”

A small smile curves his lips. _“I’m_ going to come for you,” he says simply, thumb tenderly tracing her cheekbone. “I’ll plan to show up about a minute after my old self leaves, while the dimensional walls are still porous enough for me to get through. But you can’t let on about any of that, all right? In fact, we’ll have to go over it all, what you should say and how-

“But what about the other you?” Rose cuts in. “The part-human one? What will happen to him?”

He shrugs, though he’s a little bit in awe of how well she’s handling this whole barmy scenario. Over the years it’s been a small worry, that perhaps the metacrisis’ smidge of humanity would have proven too difficult for her to accept, and just look at her, scarcely batting an eyelash over it. “I gave him a TARDIS clipping. He’ll be fine. Won’t take long, maybe three, four years for his ship to grow, and then he’ll be back to traveling. Have a whole new universe to explore and everything.”

As Rose takes that in, the look in her eyes unnerves him a little. “And what’s he s’posed to do in the meantime?”

“I don’t know, Rose,” he replies, trying to tamp down a surge of impatience. “But I’m sure he’s clever enough to figure it out. Maybe he’ll ask your dad for a job or something. That other Earth certainly seemed like it needed the help.”

A strong breeze swirls in and rustles the trees, and Rose shivers. The damp air smells like dust and rain, and the Doctor glances upward as he quickly sheds his long coat and drapes it over her shoulders. Beyond the leafy canopy the moons still light the sky, but perhaps it’s best if they turn back anyway. Not only is it late, the last thing he wants is for Rose to be caught in a rainstorm when she’s already a bit cold. And, judging by her prolonged silence, also quite tired. 

“I’m worried it might rain again,” he says as his gaze returns to her. She’s too busy fussing with the buttons on his jacket to answer, her small hands nearly swallowed up by the red-lined sleeves. The sight makes every practical concern flee his brain. They’re in the woods, in the dark, on a cramped, muddy road, and she’s not his yet...but oh, she certainly looks the part. Rose has always been the love of his life, but she’s certainly never looked like his future before. Not before tonight.

It suddenly engulfs him, the electric urge to kiss her again, to claim her. Sparks tingle the tips of his fingers as they find her chin, gently tilting her face up, but Rose meets his soft look with a wary expression. “It’s just… it’s not right, is it?” she says, stilling him. “It’s not right to just leave him behind, all alone. He’s the Doctor as much as you, yeah? Isn’t that what you said?”

Cold fear chills him, shattering the moment, and the Doctor drops his hand from her face. He so dreads to hear what she might say next that he barely resists the urge to lie outright. “Yes,” he says flatly. 

All he gets for his trouble is silence, which he bears for less than five seconds before tossing his hands out in frustration. “What’s all this...this hesitating about? You said you wanted _me,_ Rose!”

Her brown eyes are wide and stunned. “I do, course I do, but…” Her gaze skitters away. “I can’t stand the thought of abandoning him. He’s _you.”_

“Well, I’m certainly not taking him with us!” he declares with finality.

“I know that,” she shoots back, rolling her eyes. “I wasn’t asking!”

“So, what?” The fear slithers deeper, clenches his gut in rough, icy fists. He has no choice but to voice it. “Are you actually considering choosing him over me? Even though you know for a fact that you’ll long outlive him?”

“Not ‘over,’” she hedges. A tiny part of him marvels at how small and vulnerable she looks, drowning in his long black coat, when in truth she’s wielding so, so much power. “I don’t... this has been a lot to take in, okay? Can’t you just let it go for now? Let me think on it for a bit?”

The Doctor rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, half-glad she wants to pause this because his throat’s closed up anyway. Rose’s indecision...it hurts. It feels too much like rejection, like dashed hopes and heartbreak, and the intense swell of emotion it brings is almost more than he can cope with.

Always, always, he has assumed that if he’d only been honest on that beach, and hadn’t twisted things to his duplicate’s favour, then he, the original, the full Time Lord, would’ve been Rose’s first choice, hands-down. For years and years that belief has been a salve to his scars. And now, to find out differently...

Bitter words rise and escape. “I just- how can there be anything to think about?!”

“He’s you,” Rose repeats in a strained voice, a strange mix of sorry and stubborn. “How do I just abandon him, to spend the rest of his life alone?”

To his horror, hot tears swell up and burn his eyes. “Well, you managed to abandon me just fine!” he hurls back, banishing the offensive moisture with one rough, angry swipe. “And let me tell you, it’s been for a helluva lot longer than the five or six measly decades he’ll have to put in!”

Remorse snuffs his ire the instant he sees her flinch. His mouth opens, working to form a coherent apology, when he’s suddenly knocked back by the weight of a warm, soft Rose as she flings herself into his arms. “Is that true?” she exhales, her grip on him like a vise.

The Doctor grapples to clutch her closer, the heavy wool of his own coat in ridges as he fists it at her back. He’s glad she can’t see his face. Holding each other like this, it feels too much like she wants him, and the terrible lump in his stomach has migrated to his throat. He breathes carefully past it. “No, not really. As established, I basically made the choice for you.” 

“No,” she mumbles into his neck. “I meant the ‘decades’ part. You’ve really been on your own that long?” 

More like centuries, he thinks, but he’d rather die than make her feel worse. “I...not on my own. It’s not like I haven’t had friends.” 

Rose tilts her head back to look at him, her tear-streaked face incredulous and sad and joyous, all at once. “Doctor,” she says, in a tone that’s almost rebuking. “After all that time, how can you possibly still want me?” 

New, determined energy fills him as the Doctor senses golden opportunity. “‘Want?’” he echoes, equally reproachful, as he gazes at the woman in his arms. “I don’t _'want'_ you, Rose- haven’t since, oh, probably the first week I met you. A person can only ‘want’ for things that are non-essential. Do I want lungs, or skin, or anything else of the like? Of course not, because they’re already an inherent part of my being.” 

Rose gapes and he can see he’s overwhelmed her, and he knows he’s not playing fair but he doesn’t care. This time around, he is bloody _going to keep her._

Resting his forehead on hers, the Doctor lets their breath mix, and then strikes (what he hopes is) the killing blow. “I will never get over you,” he whispers hotly across her lips. “I love you. You are _intrinsic.”_

The last word he brushes rough over her parted mouth, the lead-in to a possessive kiss. And he thrills at the helpless little sound she makes, the way her nails dig into the backs of his shoulders through his thin white oxford, how her response is eager, immediate, utterly devoid of indecisiveness. Feeling like he’s made his point, the Doctor wonders what else he can do to win her over entirely. Certainly more of this, he decides as his seeking lips find her jaw, noting the way she melts against him. More telling her he loves her. So far it’s proved extremely rewarding.

A small scuffling in the underbrush startles them apart. “I should get you home,” he says, after they share a shaky laugh. “It’s late.”

Rose agrees. As they head back up the incline, the Doctor can’t help but cringe as the worst bits of their conversation return to his mind. “Forgive me,” he says to her, mouth twisting contritely. “I had no call to get so upset with you.”

“Yeah,” she replies softly. “But I get it.”

“I just can’t seem to think rationally when you’re around,” he tries to explain, as he helps her avoid a particularly muddy spot. “Case in point: two days ago I found your dimension cannon shattered to bits, eh? Thing’s obviously a phony, and not only that, it’s been crafted from some sort of biological material. That’s beyond strange, Rose, it’s a huge mystery, and how much time have I put into solving it? How many theories have I come up with, as to who might’ve done it, and how, and why?”

She gives him a small smile. “Only two dozen, instead of three?”

“If only,” he replies, squeezing her hand. “You know I’ve got nothing. Nada. Zero. Zilch. And then there’s the songbook and photo which shouldn’t even exist here, people who are practically immortal, plus a handful of other oddities, and I’ve not given any of it the time of day.” They emerge from the woods to the main road, and the Doctor lowers his voice. “All I’ve been able to think about is you.”

Instead of the blush and smile he expects, he gets a frown. “Maybe I'm not-”

“Don't you dare say you're not good for me, Rose Tyler.”

She bites her lip. “I haven’t thought about the cannon much either,” Rose admits. “And when it got broken, I was happy. I thought it meant I wouldn’t have to go back.”

“You don’t,” he says instantly. “Not permanently.”

Rose fiddles with her side-knot of hair and won’t meet his eye. “I know.” Her response is quiet, but carries a clear note of finality. And so, although the Doctor itches to push the subject, he manages to keep his mouth shut.

Soon they approach the front walk of his cottage. “I wish we could just stay here tonight,” says Rose, with a yawn and a stretch. “But Rickey’s at my place and he’ll need feeding in the morning. Unless…” Biting her lip, she turns big, hopeful eyes on him, like maybe he’ll offer to go over there early and do it. 

The Doctor makes a face. Not that he would mind the chore. But after tonight’s kisses and confessions, he knows them staying here together is an even worse idea than it was an hour ago. But how does he explain?

“You’re welcome to sleep here tonight if you like, Rose,” he begins awkwardly, heat already creeping into his cheeks. “But...ehm. It would really be best if I don't.”

“Oh,” says Rose, confusion and hurt in the pinch of her brows. 

“I'm not upset with you or anything,” he says hastily. “It's...rather more the contrary,” he goes on, and his face is really burning now, yet...the newly-awakened forward-side of him sort of _wants_ to talk about this. Wants to see how she’ll react. 

So he leans back against the gate-post and gives it free reign. “I want to marry you,” he says bluntly, and then revels a little in her wide-eyed stare. “You needn’t look so shocked, Rose. It can’t be that big a surprise.”

Rose shakes her head. “You saying so is.”

“Right, it is terribly straightforward of me. But I am still quite rude, as you know. And it’s not like I’m actually _asking_ you to marry me or anything.”

“Not making it better,” she comments dryly, though he spots the hint of a smile at the edge of her mouth.

“Sorry. I’m just...trying to explain the problem, I suppose. I want to marry you, but it can't happen now, even if you agreed, and then, to top things off, you’re a human whose marriage customs differ greatly from those of a Time Lord. For your people, it’s all about rings and witnesses, and vowing to not part till death, whereas for mine, it was...graver than that. More, well. More permanent.”

“Okay,” Rose says slowly, and he can see she’s doing her best to understand. “But how does this relate to you not staying in the same house with me anymore?”

“Gallifreyan marriage is permanent,” he repeats, his dark eyes on hers. “Literally so, because love plus intimacy always results in a mental bond, an unbreakable union of two minds. I suppose what I'm trying to tell you is- when a Time Lord falls in love, it takes far, far less than a drunken, ill-advised trip to Las Vegas to end up accidentally married.”

“And if we form a bond,” he goes on seriously, as Rose’s eyes fill with comprehension, “it can only be broken by two things- death, or the Void. Point is, even if… -even if you knew it was what you wanted- I can’t marry you and then send you back. It would be excruciating for both of us.”

Rose nods, nervously fiddling with a button on his coat she’s still wearing. “So, this bond-thing, it happens because you’re a telepath?”

“Yes.”

“So what’s it like, then? Oh, and is this the reason you never… when we were together before, is it the reason you never pursued anything-”

The _whack_ of a door slamming shut interrupts them. “Doctor Smith?” a thin, suspicious voice calls out. “Is that you?” Summoning patience, the Doctor turns his head to find the frumpy figure of Mrs. Dewey is indeed eyeing them from her adjoining garden, a short distance away.

“Yes,” he replies shortly. ‘Who else would it be’ hangs in the air, unspoken but obvious.

“Alright,” she says, like she’s not quite convinced. It’s too dark to see, but the Doctor just knows her creased old eyes have narrowed further. “Why’re you still living here, then? Don’t your new wife have a bigger, nicer place?”

Caught, the Doctor hesitates. He hasn’t considered this issue. How can he stay here on his own without question, now that he’s supposedly a married man? 

“She does have,” he says slowly. “We’re...well, we’re just popping by to pick up a couple of things.”

There’s an odd, muffled sort of gasping sound. The Doctor directs a sharp look Rose’s way, and yep. She’s definitely laughing behind her hand.

“Not helping,” he hisses under his breath.

Her giggles increase, but thankfully the old bat next door has already gone back inside. And somehow, the painful tension between them has dissolved.

“‘M sorry,” Rose tells him, eyes sparkling. It’s easy to see she’s enormously pleased. “But I’m sure we’ll be fine, we’ll figure something out. There’s that little shed you built outside for Rickey, for instance. You could sleep in there, since he certainly isn’t going to.”

The Doctor rolls his eyes, and steers her out toward the main road again. “Oh, ha ha ha, I’m glad at least one of us thinks this is funny. I can tell this whole prospective mind-bond thing has really worried you.”

“We have bigger worries,” Rose replies cheerfully. “Like rebuilding the cannon. What if we can’t do it?”

Lightning flashes across a sky that had darkened while he was distracted. He tugs her along faster. “Rose. I’ve seen your future, remember? You’ll have a dimension cannon; it’s as good as done. I promise it won’t be a problem.”

 

********

 

“Well,” says the Doctor, sending bits of coloured wires flying as he tosses them in frustration. “This is definitely a problem. These wires are rubbish, they won't keep a steady current.”

Across the table, Rose glances up from the circuit board she’s working on, and blinks him into focus. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is mussed. “Well,” she says, taking the battery from him and studying it. “This looks like a ring terminal should be used, doesn’t it? You should try that; you’ll get a better connection.”

A jolt of heat goes through him as her tongue rolls it out. Blimey, she’s gorgeous when she’s talking tech. “Right, but I don’t have any ring terminals,” he replies, taking a long swallow of tea. 

“Yes, you do. I saw a small package of them in your briefcase.” Rose shoves her chair back, and rolls her shoulders. “I’ll even fetch them for you,” she offers. “Could stand to stretch my legs for a mo’.”

Rose disappears into the bedroom without further ado and the Doctor sighs, a tiny bit grateful to be alone for a minute. They’d gotten home so late the previous night that Rose had gone straight to bed, so there hadn’t been a problem, but today the tension between them, good and bad, is at an all-time high. Even with the distraction of the cannon, he’s finding it near impossible to keep his hands off her. 

Worse yet, he’s not entirely convinced that he should. He wants his feelings for her to be abundantly clear, to help her get over her indecision. What if he mucks things up by not giving her enough reminders?

And he doesn’t have all that much time, either. School starts up again tomorrow. Then they’ll have only a few short hours in the evening, and they’ll probably finish up building her new cannon, if they don’t finish it today, so, even though she's said nothing on the subject since yesterday, she's got to decide which of him she wants and _soon_ , and-

“Doctor!” Rose calls, from the bedroom. “Come see this!”

She sounds plenty worked up, but she’s not scared. “Can’t you bring whatever it is out here?” he shouts back. Sitting in the kitchen is one thing, he’s not so stupid so as to join her in her bedroom on a whim.

“I really can’t!”

Sighing, he gets to his feet, bracing himself before he pushes through the partially open bedroom door. When he spots Rickey, all four paws poked up in the air as he sleeps on her bed, he’s immediately suspicious. “Oi, if you called me in here just to show me how cute you think that haigha is-”

“No, look.” Sounding urgent, Rose gestures to a notebook lying open on the bureau. Mali’s notebook. The Doctor frowns. He hasn’t had a chance to read her story yet, but what could she possibly have written that has Rose so-

“You left this book here the other day,” she explains hurriedly, “so I laid it on the bureau an’ I was paging through it a bit yesterday, but I never noticed till just now-”

“Noticed what?” he interrupts, squinting down at Mali’s messy handwriting.

Rose huffs. “No, Doctor. Look at it in the mirror.”

Eyebrows pinching, his gaze lifts slightly to take in the reflected pages. At first he notices nothing unusual, but then: “What in the-” His eyes squeeze shut and then open again. “Why isn’t the writing reversed?”

“Isn’t that for you to tell me?” snickers Rose, as he studies his own image next. He waves his left hand in front of the glass, then the right. 

“It’s reflecting me normally, mostly,” he muses. “Still makes my face look weird though.” 

“Add it to the list, yeah? Phony tech, reversed DNA, non-reversing mirrors…”

A thought strikes him and he plunges a hand in his pocket. “And backwards writing on the psychic paper,” he adds, retrieving it and flipping it open. 

“I forgot about that!”

“Me too,” he admits with a sigh, and holds the open brown wallet up to the mirror. “Ooh, look at that. Still backwards.”

Rose is at his side, giggling in delight and practically dancing, and the Doctor grins at her as he meets her eyes in the mirror. There is nothing so beautiful in any universe as an excited, happy Rose. “Check the other one,” she commands him gleefully.

“Other one what?” 

“Check the other mirror,” she elaborates, laughing.

“Right,” he says, and drags his eyes from her with effort. Coat swishing, he strides over to the full-length mirror he’d brought from the TARDIS. 

It flips the image of the psychic paper properly, just as a mirror should. “Ha!” crows Rose triumphantly. “We got it!”

The Doctor laughs out loud. “Got what? You do realise we actually haven’t the foggiest idea what’s going on here, right?”

“I know!” she says, bouncing. “So let’s figure it out!”

Hesitating, he sucks a breath through his teeth. “Well, I don’t know. Yes, it’s odd, but this is an alien planet, so the anomaly could be chalked up to any number of things, the angle of the light or…” Rose’s smile dims a little, so he trails off, rubbing an eye. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I think the cannon is a far more pressing matter, Rose. Fun as this is.”

“But you’re going to leave this planet shortly after I do, and then we’ll never know,” argues Rose. “What if there’s a correlation, Doctor? Images in a mirror won’t always reverse, but DNA does? Something about this place changed me, and maybe we could find out what it is. Find out why I’m an ahionio now.”

He absorbs this, tapping his chin. She makes a good point. “Okay, so you and the rest of the ahionios have anti-clockwise strands of DNA,” he says. “But most of the people here don’t. So if something on the planet’s changing people, why doesn’t it happen to all of them?”

Rose flops down on the bed with a smile, tickled that he’s speculating with her. “We assume it’s not, anyway. Shouldn’t we check more people to be sure?”

“Absolutely. I’ll have my screwdriver at school tomorrow, I can get a good start by scanning a few of my students-”

“No, we should start by scanning _you,”_ Rose cuts in breathlessly, like she’s onto something big. “Listen.” 

Popping to her feet, she comes close and grabs both his hands, her eyes gleaming and wide. “I’m not from here, you’re not from here. What if _Willa’s_ not from here either? Like, it would explain why she claims she has no parents; no ahionios do. It would explain how she knew a song from Earth. Maybe people who come here from elsewhere get changed.” 

Hearts thrumming, he stares at her, utterly astounded at her ability to find patterns and connections. 

He’s utterly astounded, and immensely attracted. “Rose Tyler, you are _brilliant.”_

All rosy cheeks and beaming smile, Rose peers up at him shyly through her lashes. And all at once, the easy, laughing atmosphere thickens like honey, oozing warm and slow and sweet over his skin. 

And then, his attraction becomes a flurried frenzy of something else entirely.

His next half-coherent thought doesn’t come until Rose gasps against his mouth, as if she’s surprised, though the Doctor can’t imagine why. So he reignites the kiss, prolongs it, and as their minds merge and entwine all he feels is her love, how she wants what he wants, to keep him _(him)_ forever. And she should, he decides. She will.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild chapter appears! No one is more surprised than I lol. This thing was complicated. Sorry for the angst, but of course they’ll work things out. :) Enjoy the reveals!

The Doctor knows, perhaps better than anyone, that the universe contains an infinite variety of complex systems. Whether vast or minuscule, starfields or ecosystems or single-celled protozoa, there are always intricacies to explore, to puzzle out. Complexity draws him, delights him, intrigues him. 

And at times overwhelms him, especially if the system’s abstract. Like personalities and relationships, whims and motives, indecipherable emotions. The last can make him run like gunfire at his heels, yet, as his mouth moves with Rose’s, as hands scrabble at backs and psi-barriers fall, he finds he welcomes the frantic build, the whirlwind of feeling that swallows and swirls him up. 

Their relationship has always been bound into an intricate web of complications. But now the web seems to unravel at his touch, falling away until only its heart remains. Love. Simple and elemental.

Clumsy thumbs seek her temples to maintain the link as his lips break from hers. It’s vital that he ask. “Rose,” he rasps, on a ragged, indrawn breath. “Rose, will you-”

Before he can finish, pain cuts like lightning through the thick haze of passion, jerking him back to reality. The Doctor yelps and recoils, eyes flying open in shock. 

In immediate view is Rickey, crouched at the edge of the mattress. Ears back, his lip curls in a snarl as he glares up at the Doctor with gleaming, slitted eyes. 

Instinct eases the Doctor away from the angry animal, sends his hand to clap down on his throbbing flesh. He feels staggering drunk, his bpm is through the roof and his temples throb from the deep mental connection having been severed so abruptly, but the complaint rises to his lips with relative ease. “This...this horrid little creature! He bit me!”

“Are you alright?” Rose is as out of breath as he is, but sounds far more coherent. “Where’d he get you?” She takes his arm and tries to turn him around. 

The Doctor fully resists. “I...I’m fine. He didn’t break the skin.” 

“Better let me check.” His eyes go wide, and so does her grin. Slowly, he shuffles back and she follows, then his back bumps the wall and the bed’s on his right and-

Oh, brilliant. He’s trapped. 

“I said I’m fine.”

“Got you right on the bum, yeah?” states Rose mercilessly, pink tongue poking out and everything. “Left cheek?”

“Stop it,” he grumbles as heat floods his face, though not purely from embarrassment. Rose’s smile has always had the power to reduce his IQ, but he's never seen it quite like this, with lips so swollen from his kisses. He drags his gaze from her mouth, lets it drift over her hopelessly mussed hair, her flushed cheeks and dark eyes. His skin prickles hot and cold, the burning drive to finish what he'd started warring with fear that he just might.

Rose eyes him back, a charged, uncertain silence falling between them. In owlish fascination, the Doctor watches her cheeks stain even redder, her teeth pressing into the swell of her puffy bottom lip. “Did he,” she ventures, “did he sort of just, um...save us?”

Her question dashes cold water on the smouldering fire. Slumping against the wall, the Doctor exhales a long, pent-up breath. ‘Saved’ is the one thing he does not feel. A myriad other emotions roil inside him instead, frustration the most prominent. Sod stupid Rickey for interrupting things, sod his stupid self for starting them, sod this bloody _limbo_ they're still in that's worse than any paradox. He's just tired, so tired of being worried and afraid.

“Doctor?” Rose queries softly, and as he meets her eye again sudden shame turns his stomach.

Time Lords did not, could not, lose control like that. Especially in these sorts of matters. Marital mind-links were rare amongst his people, the gravest of grave decisions. To form one on impulse would be wrong, the worst sort of irresponsibility. Yes, he’d warned Rose about his lack of trust in himself, but deep down he hadn't truly believed he might-

Although, he thinks, with a sudden flash of self-insight, perhaps this wasn't born from him _losing_ control so much as him trying to gain some semblance of it. 

Oh, he thinks again, flinching. That's...worse.

But all he says to Rose is- “Yes. He saved us. I’m sorry.”

The soft mattress sinks under Rose as she sits on it, smoothing a hand over the rumpled quilt. “‘M so sorry too, god, I don't know what I was thinking. I mean, you said you were worried this might happen.” She tugs Rickey into her lap, and the haigha yawns as she begins stroking his long ears. “Suppose I should’ve taken it more seriously.” 

“You’re not the one who’s a born telepath, Rose,” he responds forcefully, to rid her of the notion that she's to blame in any way. “You've only just heard of mental links, whereas I’ve had the dangers of mucking about with one drilled into me since childhood. How could I…I nearly locked you to me permanently when there's a Void jump in your future, when I don’t know if a human can even survive a severed bond…” He trails off as guilt swamps him anew, and rubs his eyes wearily.

Bending forward, Rose reaches out and lays a warm hand on his forearm. “Hey, it’s fine, it didn’t happen. And even if it had, you’d have fixed things somehow.”

“Yes. By never sending you back and causing a paradox.”

“Doctor,” she chides. “You know you wouldn’t.”

He snorts derisively. “How can you say that, Rose, after what just happened? After what I nearly did? Don't you feel it deep inside here-” he presses the thin flesh of his forehead hard, between his eyes, “that ache, that _burn?_ That's how close I-” His eyes squeeze shut and he spits out the truth. “Think you could possibly choose my other self when I've already got you deadlocked to me?”

Several silent seconds tick by, and when Rose speaks, her words are soft with sympathy. “You were scared. And it's not like I was an unwilling participant.”

“I nearly robbed you of your choice,” he repeats, unsure of why she's going so easy on him. “Again. Aren't you angry about that?”

An impatient huff. “‘S not like you were forcing a bond on me. In fact, before we were so rudely interrupted, I think you were _asking_ me if I wanted it.”

His eyes pop open and his head raises, the eager question off his tongue before he can stop it. “What would you have said?” 

Rose breathes out a small laugh. “Well, I can’t be sure,” she says, looking down at Rickey as she pats his soft grey back. “But I think it would’ve been something like…’not quite yet’.”

Hope rises in him like the sun. “Do you mean…”

She smiles as she meets his gaze, though the look in her eyes is sober. “Doctor, I never meant to worry you like this. I just had so much to think through and-” She shakes her head. “But I've figured it all out. You are never going to lose me. I promise.”

“So- I’m coming for you, then?” he asks, too stunned and relieved to smile back. He thinks he might cry instead, because he couldn’t bear to imagine living without Rose again and now he doesn’t have to. She’s picked him, picked _him,_ and-

“Course you are,” Rose responds, but something in the slow way she says it stills his inner victory dance. There’s not the least hint of condescension, like he’s been silly for worrying. In fact, he can practically hear the asterisk.

As she continues, the Doctor steels himself. “So here’s what I’ve been thinking… well, wondering…um. Would you be able to postpone your arrival at Bad Wolf Bay? By, say, an hour or so?”

“Why?” he asks suspiciously, not at all liking where this is heading. “You want a bit more time with my double or something?” 

The Doctor loads the question with disapproval. His metacrisis --in the form of (arguably) his prettiest, most charming self-- will be getting a worrisome amount of time with Rose as it is. And he’ll use it to pull out all the stops: heavy flirting whilst still aboard the TARDIS, topped by a quasi-proposal and an _I love you_ and a fervent, drawn-out kiss, and those are just the bits that he witnessed. To allow the Other even one extra minute alone with Rose, to try who knows what else to win her over, is not something the Doctor is about to agree to willingly.

“Yeah, suppose you could say that,” replies Rose, setting Rickey on the bed as she stands. After pacing away a few steps, she turns to him with an expression of resigned determination. Hearts speeding, the Doctor straightens from his slouch. 

“See, I’ve come up with this plan,” she explains. “This idea. It's a way for me to not abandon either of you.”

She goes on, something about Pete’s World and his other self and a new TARDIS and _‘I won’t grow old’,_ but his ears roar so loudly he only hears bits and pieces. He catches her meaning well enough, though, and it's like poison in his veins. 

It must spill onto his face, because all at once Rose stops speaking mid-sentence, her brows pinching in worry. “Say something.”

It strikes something loose in him, a rush of words that taste like acid. “Say what, exactly?” he drawls, gaze boring into hers from across the room, his posture ramrod straight. “‘Congratulations, you’ve solved it’? Forgive me if I can’t quite muster up the enthusiasm, but you see, the woman I love has just told me of her intent to stay with another man in another universe.”

Her eyes flash. “Doctor, I’m not choosing him over you, or abandoning you. Look, I get that you don’t care what happens to him, but I do, because he’s _not_ another man!” 

Rose inhales deeply, a visible attempt to calm herself. “And like I said, if we both time-travel to meet at the very same moment on Bad Wolf Bay, then from your perspective, we won’t be parted a single second longer than we would have been otherwise. I’m not even asking you to _wait_ for me.”

In growing disbelief, he shakes his head, slow. “What are you thinking, Rose? That this is the perfect little fix?”

Rose flushes. “I know it’s more complicated than that. It’s certainly not an ideal solution, but Doctor, it’s by far the best one I can think of. I’ve gone over it and over it in my mind, and I’ve decided I can’t just shove off and leave him, because-”

“Because he’s me,” the Doctor completes for her, mockingly sharp with sarcasm. 

Rose throws her hands up in exasperation, like there’s no call for his rude attitude. “Well, he is!”

“It’s true,” he replies as his arms fold across his chest, in no way conceding. How can she ask him to simply roll over and accept this? When he’s already cracked himself open to the core, put his battered hearts in her hands, when he’s already tasted her mouth and her mind? “But you know what else is true? He’s not a past me, or a future one, he’s a completely separate person. So how can you expect me to just…” 

All at once his strength leaves him, and the Doctor shifts over to sit on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands. “He’ll want all of you, you know,” he says quietly, gaze lifting to meet her confused, worried eyes. “He won’t ever be satisfied with anything less. He’ll marry you in a heartbeat, he’ll form a bond with you, he’ll make love to you, he’ll live a whole life with you. _First.”_

Her every line goes rigid. “Oh,” she whispers as she comes over and sinks down beside him. It's a pained, unhappy word, and the Doctor knows an opened door when he spots one.

“Whether our upcoming separation lasts hours or days or years, it doesn’t matter. I’d wait decades for you, if I knew for certain you’d be mine at the end of it all. But you won’t. You’ll be his.”

Rose fiddles with her rings. “I understand why this...why this is difficult. Why the idea of it hurts and upsets you. But ‘s not like I’ll stop loving you, Doctor, or forget about you, or about any of this. I can’t imagine I’ll be anything but happy to see you when you come for me. And he’ll...well, he’ll be gone.”

“Yes. And you’ll be grieving him. You’ll be longing for the life you’d built together and lost. Can’t you see that? You won’t be this Rose, my Rose anymore, you’ll be a different person. For you, everything you and I have shared here will be a distant memory.”

Struck, Rose’s lips pinch in pain, her eyes welling up. “I didn’t think about it like that,” she admits, tears trickling down her cheeks. “‘S like no matter what I do, I'm doomed to hurt one of you.”

The Doctor pulls her into his arms, already half regretting what he'd said, true as it was. “I'm sorry,” he says, nose buried in her hair. “I know that sounded harsh. Manipulative, even. I realise this is your choice, that you have the right to walk away from both of us if that's what you decide is best for you, but at the same time I just…” 

Easing back, he cups her face and looks at her earnestly. “For so long I believed we could never properly be together,” he says, thumbing her tears away. “And so every time something threatened to take you away, I just sort of… gave up. Then I lost you, and I believed our chance was over- but it wasn't, you're here, and I can't not fight for you, Rose. Fight for _us._ The idea of another man having you makes me insane with jealousy. I don’t care who he is.”

Sniffling, she nods, and he drops his hands from her face. “S’pose I’d feel the same way, if our roles were reversed. I’d hate sharing you with anyone.” Rose picks at a loose thread on the quilt. “Actually… I’m not so sure I could. I’m not being fair to you at all, am I?”

The Doctor blinks, breath catching as her eyes lift to his again, her expression gone tender. “You let me in,” she says, lightly touching his jaw like he's delicate, precious. “You let me close. And you… you’re the one who’s said the words.” Hand falling to her lap, she glances away. “Whereas he never has.”

_‘He will,’_ his traitorous inner voice supplies, but he ignores it, his entire focus on Rose and the spine-tingling turn this conversation has taken.

“So I choose you,” Rose concludes, and leans in to press a soft, sweet kiss to his lips. “Only you.”

Dumbstruck, the Doctor gazes at her. He’s fairly certain Rose has just promised him everything he’s ever wanted, but strangely, he’s struggling to react. Magnitude of the moment, no doubt… yet, there’s a confusing dissonance deep inside him. His joy rings rather hollow, muffled by something that feels like...guilt. Like he’d tricked her. Even though every feeling he’d expressed was valid, and every word true. Sharing her _would_ hurt too much.

_So you'll let her take the hit instead?_

Rose pokes at his furrowed forehead, one corner of her mouth quirking up. “You're gonna give a girl a complex, if all you're gonna do is stare at me like-”

Hastily clapping a lid on his worry, the Doctor smiles and quickly tugs her into another, longer kiss, one he pours as much love and gratitude as he can into, without going near her mind.

He’ll kiss her lips now, and her feet for the next eternity.

It stays chaste and ends softly, and afterward Rose gives him a long, weighty look, like she’d managed to read his thoughts anyway. But as she gets to her feet, all she does is scrunch her nose up and wryly say- “Might be best if we wait to do that again.” 

The kissing, she means, and the Doctor smiles a bit. He wants to tease her, make the air between them feel as warm and sun-lit as their future. But he can’t quite manage it. “Yes, right. That's...wise.”

As she passes the dresser, Rose picks up a small package and shows it to him. “Um, here's those ring terminals you needed for the cannon. Want to go give them a try?”

“Sure.” The Doctor stands, stretches, and follows her out of the bedroom, wracking his brain for a way to make her smile. A joke, a compliment... or, maybe an official break from work is in order. They could spend an hour baking some nice sugary biscuits, or go out to pick apples or flowers...

In the kitchen, sunlight slants in through the big front window, the warm yellow light of late afternoon illuminating the messy workspace on the table. He hovers awkwardly in the doorway, watching as Rose goes and rescues her tea mug from amongst the assortment of tools and wire scraps, frowning down into it.

The Doctor jumps at the chance to help. “Why don't you sit and relax; I'll make a fresh pot,” he offers quickly, and hurries to grab the water pitcher. 

“Ta.” 

A splash as she dumps her cold tea in the sink; the scrape of a chair being pulled out. In the middle of refilling the kettle he glances back over his shoulder, hearts sinking as he sees Rose slumped at the table. The new cannon lays before her, wires spilling from its guts, and she gives it a look of obvious distaste. 

His eyes return to the teapot he’s attempting to fill, but without really seeing it. Rose is dreading what's to come. And it’s all his fault. And who’s he fooling anyway, believing a laugh or some fun might fix it? 

She thinks she’s made the wrong choice, she’s going to change her mind before this day ends, she’s going to go back to her original plan or pick his other self _only_ and-

Doctor,” says Rose on a heavy sigh. “Will you please stop?”

Water dribbles down his hand as he glances her way again, and he sets the pitcher down. “Stop?”

“Stop looking at me like that, all… frowny, and things. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re thinking. But just stop, will ya, because I made my decision and I don’t regret it. Yes, I’m a bit anxious, but that doesn’t mean I’m not happy.”

Rose is glaring at him, and pointing, and it makes him feel a little better. “Yes ma’am,” he says, lifting his hands in surrender. Her lips curve up at his put-on meekness, and although it’s a win, he still itches for things to be like they were earlier. When she was gleeful and excited and laughing-

“Oh!” An unexpected grin steals across his face as he remembers. “We’ve got a new mystery to solve! How did we forget about that?”

Rose smirks, her chin in her hands. “Gee, I wonder.”

“And it was a brilliant theory you had too,” he rambles, clunking the kettle onto the stove before wandering over to her. “That those who’ve become ahionios are not native to this planet. Images that don’t reverse and DNA that does. It needs following up, Rose Tyler!” Two beats later he’s fished out his screwdriver, and offers it to her. “Want to do the honours?”

With a surprised, pleased smile, Rose reaches for the tool, then makes a show of thoroughly scanning him. Afterward, she deftly flicks the sonic upright and inspects it. Her eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

His stomach flips. “What? What is it?”

She’s squinting at it again, harder. “Isn’t your DNA supposed to have _three_ strands?”

_“Doesn't_ it?”

Rose snickers, grin breaking free. “How should I know? ‘M not telepathic; you ought to know I can't read what it says.”

“Yet,” amends the Doctor, feigning the annoyance she expects but secretly delighted to be teased. He plucks the sonic from her hand, suddenly quite eager to see the results for himself. If he finds his own DNA swirling backwards, that would be quite a sign, wouldn’t it? A sign that he's doing the right thing, if his very genetic code is in sync with Rose’s. Matching blue jackets have got nothing on that. 

“Yet?”

“You will be,” he says distractedly, holding the sonic aloft. “Telepathic. Once we bond, you'll be fully- ohhhh.”

“Seriously, Doctor, you have got to start finishing your sentences.”

His brows draw together as he scrutinises the psychic display. “It's normal, Rose,” he states, puzzled and disappointed. “My DNA is completely normal.”

“But...that makes no sense. You're not from this planet and neither am I, and I still believe Willa’s not either, so why…” Rose shakes her head. 

“Now, don’t abandon your hypothesis quite yet. You and Willa and the others might still be like Superman, all powered-up by an alien sun. Maybe whatever it is only affects humans. Or humans from Earth. If this were a proper experiment, I wouldn’t belong in the test sample anyway.” 

Rose picks up a snip of discarded blue wire and bends it around her finger. “So maybe this place couldn’t change you because you’re a Time Lord?”

“Maybe.” The Doctor pockets his screwdriver, and scratches the back of his head. “Or maybe some things are just nonsense on this planet.”

“Yeah, except I’ve never seen a place with less nonsense. It makes me tired, sometimes,” she adds with a sigh. “I miss the madness of our old life.”

“Me too.” He steps over to the window, squinting in the warm light as he takes in their woodsy surroundings. “You know, you could take the sonic tomorrow if you want, and do a bit more sleuthing while I'm at school. Go visit Mali’s parents, sneak a scan of her dad, question them a little.” He taps the glass, turns to face her, and is happy to see Rose looks intrigued by the idea. “It'd be fun. And who knows what you might find out?”

“Okay,” she agrees. “But… now that I’m thinking about it more, isn’t it a bit weird how Willa didn’t seem to remember where she’d heard that song before? Like, if she’s actually from Earth like me, shouldn’t she have known… I dunno. It makes me wonder if she was simply mistaken, she only thought she recognised it, and so now I’ve been jumping to all the wrong conclusions-“

“Rose, what would you expect her to say? Neither you nor I are native to this planet, and we certainly weren’t up front about it either. It’s not the sort of thing that exactly makes the best first impression on strangers.”

“You’d know,” she quips, looking somewhat reassured. “So you think I should just ask them, then?”

“The simple and straightforward route,” he says, nodding. “Not my favourite sort of plan, but you could give it a go. But if they aren’t very forthcoming, there’s got to be some other way to find out…” He thinks a moment. “I wish my TARDIS were readily available; you know what I’d do right now? Scan the planet for downed spaceships. Because if all the ahionios are non-natives, they had to have traveled here somehow.”

Rose’s eyes gleam and they share a smile. “Maybe those ships are in the lake too,” she suggests, smile brightening, only for it to fade. “But I’ll already be gone by the time you get a chance to check, and you’ll be leaving. What if Willa won’t talk, and then there’s no spaceships to be found? We might never know why I’ve changed.”

The Doctor leans back against the wall, unsure how to respond. To a certain extent, he empathises with her need for answers, but mostly he’s just glad it happened. Rose’s new lifespan is a gift, a magnanimous one at that. He is not all that inclined to look it in the mouth. 

“Think we could ever come back here?” Rose presses.

The teapot whistles, and he goes to move it to the back of the stovetop before answering her. “I'm sorry, but it's unlikely. I got here by complete accident, you know, plus the TARDIS adamantly refuses to land on the surface. It's a miracle that either of us wound up here at all.”

She nibbles a pinky nail, looking thoughtful. “If it’s that improbable, maybe our meeting here wasn't a coincidence. Have you considered that, Doctor? Could someone, or something, have brought us here?”

“I see what you're getting at, but I doubt it. Far more likely that for you, it was random, and then for me… well, the TARDIS has a habit of sending me wherever I need to go.” His throat tightens unexpectedly. “She must have seen this written in the timelines,” he goes on, “in the stars. So I'd reckon we have her to thank, if anyone.” 

Rose smiles a real smile, and then the Doctor turns away to fix their cups of tea. He knows things aren’t as fairytale-ish as he made it sound, and Rose probably knows it too. A real fixed point, or destiny, or whatever he calls it, is never so delayed, its path so convoluted. Really, if he was meant to stumble across her here, shouldn’t it have been two bodies and several centuries ago? 

Why would it happen now, when there are two of him and only one of her? 

By the time he turns around with a mug of fresh tea in each hand, Rose is hunched intently over the cannon, fussing with a wire. Three other wires poke from its innards, each with a new ring terminal already firmly attached. The Doctor sets Rose’s mug down on the table, steam curling up between them as he watches her connect them to the power cell.

“All finished,” she announces soon, snapping the hopper’s front into its clasps. “Think it might work properly this time?” Lifting the newly built cannon by its chain, she holds it up. It dangles and rotates, sunlight glinting off its glassy yellow center. 

“Only one way to find out, eh?”

Sliding the chain over her head, Rose stands up and smiles at him. 

As he eyes the big yellow button resting on her chest, the Doctor’s answering smile feels stiff and strained. She’s not leaving right this second, he chastises himself. Not while wearing her peacekeeper’s dress. Settle down; she’s only trying to power up the bloody thing.

Although, he thinks next, would it be so terrible if she did leave tonight? Or as soon as morning comes? While she’s still standing by her decision to be solely his, before she can think twice-

“It’s working!” Rose announces as a low hum fills the air. The Doctor halts his spiraling thoughts, grateful she hadn’t been paying him any attention. “Finally!”

All at once the room darkens, sunlight wicking out like a snuffed candle. Together, they turn to peer out the window. “Storms sure come up fast around here,” comments Rose, taking in the ominous cloud-cover creeping over the sky. 

“They do.” Wind catches the treetops, making them rustle and dance, and their spot near the window turns drafty and cold. Rose falls silent at his side, her eyes never leaving the sky as it continues to darken, begins to rumble and flash. Soon, the cannon’s faint glow becomes visible against her chest.

“I’ll build up the fire a bit,” says the Doctor once the rain arrives, spattering hard against the roof. “Why don’t you shut that hopper down, Rose, and light the lamps?” 

But before she can touch it, the glow of the cannon fades.

“I didn’t do that,” says Rose, and gives it a shake.

“Oh, what’s wrong with you now,” mumbles the Doctor, taking hold of the device and cradling it in his hand. He pulls the sonic out and scans it. “Wait a minute- battery’s dead? That can’t be right. That’s a Mozeal Power Cell, they’re made to last longer than your sun, and so-“

Thunder drowns out the rest of his words, a frisson of electricity zipping down his spine.

Head snapping up, the Doctor stares out into the storm, and feels the tingling static again. Its heat is strange: he feels it more in his gut than on his skin.

His eyes narrow in sudden suspicion. “Have you ever noticed,” he asks slowly, without looking away from the window, “how well-timed these storms seem to be? It’s almost as if one blows in every time something important is happening. At the festival, for example.”

He can feel Rose’s eyes on him. “Or the night… a few nights ago, when you told me we couldn’t be together,” she murmurs. “It stormed then, too, terribly. Doctor, the people here believe the rain is more than just weather, they think it means something. What if they’re right?”

The Doctor’s jaw tightens. And then, without another word, he marches to the door and throws it open.

“What in the- don’t go out there!”

“I’m not,” he replies, low, as he closes his eyes and thrusts out his hand. Cold rain drives hard and relentless against his palm. Slowly, carefully, he loosens his psychic barriers the tiniest bit. 

Fury, as icy and wild as the wind, slams into him and he gasps. Staggering back a step, he tightens his barriers and fumbles to get the kitchen door shut.

Warm hands cover his, helping him. “Doctor, what were you doing?” asks Rose anxiously, after the weather is safely closed out. 

Scowling, the Doctor shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the fear he knows he was meant to feel and doesn’t want to. “Feeling out that storm, empathically. And you were right; it’s not just weather. That, right there, is a tantrum. Like a child who wants its way.”

Rose’s breaths quicken. “What is it, some sort of creature? An entity like the Gelth?”

“Not sure. It’s just… energy. It could even be the planet itself. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve ended up on a sentient planet. Whatever it is, it’s furious, but also confident. In control. It’s very used to being in control.” He shivers, and Rose hugs his arm. 

“Sounds more like a king than a child. Used to being obeyed.” The shriek of the wind and heavy rain’s staccato fill the air, seemingly all around them. After a few long moments, Rose tugs him away from the window to the middle of the room, like she’s hoping getting out of the storm’s sight might calm it. “So that’s that, yeah? Something out there is alive.” She nods to herself. “Explains a lot, really. It’s not the sun, or the air, or the food changin’ people. It’s...that thing. Probably.”

“Probably.” 

Rose glances down at the hopper round her neck. “Did it just short out the cannon’s battery, then? It wants to keep us here?”

“Sure seems like it.” They share a weighted look. 

Rose flinches when thunder booms out again like a low shout, and clutches him tighter. “Ugh. I’ve always liked thunderstorms, but it’s different when some scary planet-creature is angry with me.”

The Doctor disentangles her from his arm, and then curves it around her shoulders. “C’mon,” he says, gently steering her into the living room and onto the sofa. As he joins her she curls into him, and he lights the lamp on the low table before them with his sonic. The warm, friendly glow is a welcome small comfort. 

“Thanks,” says Rose, smiling at him as he retrieves a nearby blanket and drapes it over her shoulders. 

“You don’t need to worry, Rose,” he replies, tucking the blanket snugly around her bare feet. “I’m sure it only means to scare us. And I wouldn’t let it hurt you if it tried.”

“I know you wouldn’t.” 

“Shall I close the curtains?” He gestures to the window straight ahead of them.

“No, s’alright.” She leans her head against his shoulder, going quiet. 

Outside, the storm continues raging stroppily. And as the Doctor ponders the reality of their situation, his own fury grows. No doubt this place is used to keeping the people it’s captured. But it has no clue what it’s gotten ahold of now- a Time Lord. An equally powerful force of nature, especially when bent on preserving the timelines. _Especially_ when protecting the woman he loves. 

He is the Doctor. The _original_ Oncoming Storm.

“This place is alive,” states Rose again quietly. “And it changed me, on purpose. I feel sure of it. But why?” All at once she stills, and gapes at him with realisation in her eyes. “Wait. My first dimension cannon- nobody switched it out for a fake one, did they, Doctor? This place changed that too.”

“Oh,” he exhales, eyes locking with hers.

“It took something made out of metal and glass, and changed it to bone.” Rose gives the new cannon a wary look, then lifts it off and hands it to him. “Maybe it’s done more than short out this one’s battery. You better check and see.”

The Doctor sets the cannon on the coffee table and scans it. “Well, if it can indeed remake inanimate objects, it doesn’t happen instantaneously. This hopper’s still of its original composition.”

“You mean, ‘s fine for now,” modifies Rose glumly. “So now what? You could fetch more supplies from the TARDIS to build another one, but if it’s not gonna ever work here, why bother?”

Sitting up straight, the Doctor stares at her. “The cannon’s not going to work here.”

“Yeah, think I just said that.”

“It’s not going to work here,” he says again, and grins at her. “Blimey, I’m thick. Have I ever mentioned? How stupid I am, sometimes?”

Rose blinks, looking suddenly hopeful.

“The dimension cannon won’t work on this planet, so, you’ll just make the jump from a different one.”

“What?”

“Simple.” The Doctor gets to his feet, feeling the urge to pace as he thinks. “It’s not like we can’t get to the TARDIS. We’ll simply leave, the sooner the better. We’ll travel elsewhere, and then you’ll hop dimensions.”

“So we’ll, what? Both dive to her?”

“That a problem?”

“No,” she says slowly, worrying a fingertip into the weave of the blanket. “But... well, you meant to stay here quite a bit longer, yeah? If you leave with me, you can’t ever return. What about your students?”

“There’s no way we can go tonight.” Rolling the sonic between his palms, the Doctor paces in a short line. “But with a bit of luck, that hopper will still be okay in the morning. So if the weather’s improved, I think we’d best make a run for it.”

“Doctor, what about your students?” Rose repeats. “Mali will be hurt if you just disappear. She’ll never know what happened to you.”

The Doctor grimaces. It stings, thinking of abandoning his students, Mali especially. Only a few days ago he was considering stealing her away as his companion. But now he’s got Rose, is _keeping_ Rose. And he’s not about to give the bloody universe time enough to try and thwart him.

Besides, hasn't he known for days now that he’s already overstayed his welcome here? Though... He makes another face. He may have forgotten to tell Rose about that.

“I’ll leave Mali a letter, explaining,” he decides aloud. A particularly wild swirl of wind hits the house, and the lantern on the low table flickers. “I’ll tell her the truth- as much of it as I think she’ll comprehend, anyway.”

“Ms. Queras will take over your class.”

“I know, and I hate the idea, but.” He sighs. “For me to continue on with them might actually prove to be worse in the long run. I’m sorry, Rose- I didn’t mention before now, but I’ve recently come to realise that my continued presence here is what’s mostly likely causing those small ruptures in time. You remember that photo of Mali we found, from the future?”

“Course I do, you called it a should-not-be… you think those are your fault?”

“Yes. I’m not entirely certain about it, but you have to admit, a Time Lord on extended holiday in a place like this- it has the potential to do damage.” He jams his fingers into the back of his hair. “I probably shouldn’t have introduced them to art.”

Another flash of lightning momentarily brightens the dark room, making it easy to see Rose’s indignant expression. “It was wrong that they didn’t have it before. All you did was make their lives a little better.”

“Maybe. But who knows what I’ll do next, if I stay too long.” He projects the dark thought as vehemently as he can, and hopes the planet sits up and takes notice. 

“Okay,” says Rose decisively, tossing her blanket to the side. “We’ve got things to do, then, if we’re leaving so quick. This place needs a good tidying, and you’ve got to write a letter and pack up your things. And I’m gonna be hungry before long.”

“You’ve packing to do as well,” the Doctor informs her with a smile. He goes and holds his hand out to Rose, an offer to help her to her feet.

She returns the smile, but doesn’t take his hand. “Can’t bring anything on a jump,” she reminds him.

“True. But you can bring things to the TARDIS. They’ll wait for you.”

Rose begins to twist her thumb ring nervously. “There is one thing, Doctor. An important thing. What do I do about about Rickey? I haven’t had a chance to find another home for him.”

The Doctor sighs, rubs his face, and then offers her a wry smile. “Much as I hate to admit this, I was always going to take Rickey. Even when I didn’t think you’d be back for him.”

With a delighted squeal, Rose bounces up from the sofa and flings her arms around his neck. “Oh, Doctor, _thank you,”_ she says, and lays an enthusiastic, warm kiss on his cheek. “You must really, really love me.”

Pure happiness fills every syllable, the exact emotion he’s been longing to elicit from her.

So then why does he suddenly feel so small?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we all know, Rose was never given a real choice at BWB. But if she had, it wouldn’t have been simple in the slightest. There truly is no solution to please everyone in their situation, and I wanted to explore how Rose and the Doctor might realistically react when faced with that truth. I’d love to know what you think, whether you agree or not. 
> 
> Also- bigger reveals coming next!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The darkest hour is before the dawn.

Something’s not right.

The Doctor halts abruptly, tightening his grip on Rose’s hand as he casts another suspicious glance at the overcast sky. The breath of cool air lingers this time, swirls mildly through the trees, ruffling up the leaves and his hair. It is not right. Something is odd and off, it itches in all his superior senses. The familiar tingle of things about to go awry.

His jaw sets, his eyebrows lower, his body curves over Rose protectively. A primal part of him wants to growl, to breathe fiery threat- or, better yet, to scoop her into his arms and run, all the way back to that cottage and never, ever leave-

At that last thought, the Doctor’s skyward gaze narrows into a glare. _Get out of my head._

Rose moves, tugging him onward with surprising strength. He stumbles slightly, the briefcase he’s carrying smacking his legs. “Oi,” he complains, and firmly resists his beloved’s attempts to haul him bodily down the path. “I’d like to keep my arm in its socket, thanks.”

A rude sound comes from Rose’s nose as she turns to face him fully. It’s the sound she always makes when she thinks a thing is far less awful than it actually is. “Well, stop dawdling then.”

Her use of ‘dawdle’ makes him bristle, but then Rose gifts him a playful grin. It is wide and sweet and bloody charming, and although he’s nowhere near finished assessing the situation he finds himself falling into step beside her. 

“I really don’t like the look of that sky,” he grumbles, just barely able to maintain his scowl as they trudge along over damp leaves and dirt. Had his earlier selves been this pathetic? he wonders privately. Such a slave to her charms? Really, he ought to count himself lucky she’s such a good person, that there’s no chance she’ll ever tell him she wants to be queen of the universe or something, smiling that smile as he, faithful servant, manipulates potentials and nicks jeweled crowns-

Rose nudges him with her shoulder. “You know who you remind me of right now?” 

The Doctor blinks, frowns. “What? I remind you...what?”

Rose swats at a bug. “You’re Cameron.”

“...Cameron?”

A smirk appears on her lips, warm and pink. “You know, from ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’.”

It takes a second for him to place the reference, and when he does he gapes at her in genuine offense. “I am not. I am never Cameron. Cameron is a whinger.”

Rose snickers, and he winces. “When a person has legitimate reason to worry, it’s not whinging,” he defends himself. “You know as well as I do that this place might be brewing up a massive storm as we speak.”

“It’s true, there have been some pretty scary breezes,” she replies lightly, swinging their hands. “But Doctor, even if it does storm, so what? This place wants to keep us, not kill us. Worst it can do is slow us down and get us wet, and since we’re gonna jump in the lake anyway-“

“Shh,” he cuts her off, fixing her in an intense, pointed look. “You don’t need to go and tell it what we’re up to!”

Rose stares back with equal intensity. “I thought you said it can’t understand what we say or read our minds?”

“But it can read intentions, and you’re broadcasting yours all over the place!”

“Oi, I’m not the person who’s all worked up-“ Rose takes a breath, tucking back a wayward strand of hair. “Okay, look,” she says, and sounds only slightly exasperated. “We’ve done things way scarier than this, yeah? And we always make it through, and we usually have fun. I think this is fun, anyway. “A glint appears in her eye as she peers up at him through her lashes. “But maybe you’re always this uptight on adventures these days.”

Some sort of petulant denial springs to his lips, but he stifles it. She’s only teasing, for Rassilon’s sake. Playing. Trying to get him to play too, no doubt to distract him from worrying. It’s really rather sweet, her concern. 

He smiles for real. “Now be fair, Rose Tyler. I’m only uptight _sometimes.”_

Rose giggles and hip-checks him, looking pleased, white skirt swishing above her sandal-clad feet. Her toes are filthy from the dirt and damp and so are the bottom inches of her white peacekeeper’s gown, which Rose has put on farewell tour today in spite of its hike-inappropriateness. She’s windblown, glowing, and he loves every cheeky inch of her. 

Which is why he can’t truly relax, not even a little, not till she’s home for good and safe in his arms. “So,” he ventures, his tone as pleasant as he can make it, “you think this is an adventure?”

This earns him a slight eye-roll, like she’s glad he’s finally joined the party. “Course.” Dropping his hand, she goes and hops up onto a fallen tree that lies somewhat parallel to the trail, clumps of long grass curling up at its sides. Arms outstretched, she begins to walk its length like a balance beam.

Chuckling, he hurries to keep pace alongside her, her shoulder at his eye level. “Is that why you’re so squirrelly this morning?”

Rose grins, her steps on the log sure and confident. “Would you rather I be all gloomy like you?”

Quick as a blink he grabs at her, tickling the soft spot just under her ribs. Rose shrieks, flails, teeters, and jumps to the ground in front of him. “You made me fall!” she accuses, but she’s laughing.

So is he. “Did not, you stuck that landing like a gymnast. Now stop trying to wind me up!”

“Only if you agree that this is fun,” she declares, trying to tickle him back (though he barely feels it through all his layers). “I mean, c’mon, this is classic. We’re on a living planet that’s been holding us hostage, and you’re about to thwart it.” 

“We hope,” he adds before he thinks, gaze lifting to the sky again.

“You always thwart it.” 

The Doctor starts at the feel of her arms snaking around his waist. Rose squeezes, and, like magic, some of the tension drains from the Doctor’s muscles and spine. Exhaling, he sets down his briefcase and gladly returns the hug. 

“Plus, there’ll be diving,” Rose adds into his ear, like she’s letting him in on a secret. “I’ve never been diving before.”

He gathers her closer. “I wish I was taking you diving in lovely warm seas, to see coral reefs and beautiful fish.”

“You will, soon.” Rose leans back in his arms, eyes sparkling. “But today, we’re diving someplace even better, yeah, we’re diving to our home. I absolutely can’t wait to get back to the TARDIS. And not just today, temporarily. To stay.”

Home, with Rose. Her words make him see it, they paint it out vividly, the only future he has ever really wanted. The Doctor can only tighten his hold on her, closing his eyes as hope fills him, pulsing through his veins like life-sustaining blood. 

Nose buried in Rose’s hair, he breathes, calling upon every ounce of his willpower to keep himself under control. It’s been over sixteen hours since he’s kissed her mouth, and he is rather shocked at how badly he hungers for it.

But at this moment, he doesn’t dare. He is desperately in love with her- dangerously so, having never known love without loss. 

Then comes a flash of insight. He is not afraid that this planet will prevent them from leaving today. No, he’s afraid that it _won’t._

And then what? Rose will go, she’ll find Pete’s World, she’ll find his old self and help stitch up reality, but beyond that, it’s all unwritten. So terribly uncertain. Breaching the void is hardly child’s play; even if he gets help there’s no guarantee that he’ll find the right world, the right time, the right beach. Or, or, what if he arrives to find she greatly prefers the other him, all young and dashing, instead of old and whingy and uptight-

“Hey,” she murmurs, rubbing circles over the small of his back. “We’ll be alright. You know that, yeah?”

He nods, but knows he’s clutching her too tightly to pull off the lie.

Hot breath hits his throat, followed by a press of even hotter lips. The Doctor’s whole body shudders, the urge to claim her while she still wants him nearly his undoing. Hands curling into fists, he forces himself to back away from Rose, lest he back her up against the nearest tree instead.

They stand on either side of the path, eyes locked. Rose’s are so dark, heated, and disappointed, that it is difficult for him to catch his breath. 

Between them, a ray of stray sunlight breaks through the leafy ceiling, casting dappled patterns over the ground. Rose looks up. “Seems like the mood round here is improving,” she jokes, shakily. “You’d almost think this place wants us to get together.”

The Doctor tilts his face to its warmth, eyes closing, and buys a much-needed moment before he dares look at her again. “Makes sense, if you think about it. No doubt it’s convinced you can’t leave as you came -it’s technically right, by the way- but I, on the other hand, have a fully functional ship. Perhaps it believes if it keeps you, that’s how it keeps me too.”

“Guess nobody’s ever told it, ‘be careful what you wish for’,” Rose says with a chuckle.

Humming agreement, he stoops to grab his briefcase. “Erm. We should probably keep moving.”

“Yeah, alright.”

Silence falls between them as they walk, soon coming upon a long, wide low spot puddled with muddy water. Though they don’t talk or touch much as they work to skirt it, it’s not difficult enough to be a proper distraction. The Doctor’s stomach tightens back up with anxiety. 

“You’re frowning again,” Rose points out as they hop through the last of it, passing on to drier ground. “Be a shame if your face freezes like that.”

“This face is made for frowning, I’m afraid.” 

“Maybe, but you’re much prettier when you smile.” She elbows him. “You know, if you’re that worried about storms, we could probably appease the planet again. The candy-floss trees are up ahead, it’d be a lovely spot for a snog.”

It startles a short laugh out of him. “You’re brimming full of mad ideas, aren’t you, my dear?”

“Not so mad,” she replies, sobering. “Now you, believing you might accidentally trap us into a mind-meld or marriage or whatever, that’s madder.”

The Doctor begins to scoff, but Rose glares and stops walking. “Seriously,” she says, folding her arms. “You’re always saying how selfish you are, but you’re not. Not when it comes to things that matter. Like paradoxes. And me. You’d never do that to me.”

Anger sparks to life inside him and his own arms cross, mirroring hers. He’s not entirely sure why, but this is the last thing he wants to hear today. “Don’t be so naive, Rose,” he snaps. “You, of all people, should know I’m hardly trustworthy.”

“Should I?” A thoughtful hum. “Funny.”

This aggravates him further. ”The only reason we are even doing this today is because I once abandoned you in another universe!”

Her hand comes down on the tight _x_ of his arms, her eyes a placid sea to his stormy ones. “Yes,” she says. “And if you recall, we both agreed that that was stupid, and misguided, an’ really heavy-handed of you. We also agreed that your motive was good. You said it yourself, you only left because you loved me.”

The Doctor clenches his teeth, averts his eyes. He can’t argue with this. He doesn’t understand why he so badly wants to.

“Doctor,” says Rose softly. “You touched my mind, yesterday. I knew your intent, I felt your feelings. Fear wasn’t driving either of us. It was only love, us wanting to be as close as possible. You weren’t about to misuse it to cause a paradox. Your self-perception... I’m sorry, but it is massively skewed. And I am only challenging it right now because it is obviously causing us a problem.”

Incredulous, he meets her gaze. “What problem?”

“You don’t trust yourself, and I worry that you’re projecting that onto me. Maybe that’s why you’re so scared about all this, you don’t trust that I’ll actually choose you in the end. You think I’m gonna change my mind.”

The Doctor shakes his head, vehemently. “I do trust you,” he insists. And he does, he knows he does, to his core. But at the same time, she’s flashing a spotlight into some guilty, shadowy corner, because isn’t this what he has worried about most? 

But not… not because he doesn’t trust her. No, somehow the fault’s his, something’s _not right_. He fidgets and twitches and can’t quite meet her eye. “Since when do you try to psychoanalyse me?”

A corner of her mouth quirks. “Took a psychology course, not too long ago. For example, what you just did there? That’s called ‘diverting the conversation’.”

“Cheeky.” Unfolding his arms, he inclines his head in the direction they need to go. His bellyful of adrenaline tells him he needs to move, now, preferably far, far away from this conversation. “C’mon, let’s keep going. I thought you were in such a hurry?”

Rose sighs, but doesn’t fight him. “I hope you’re thinking over what I said, Doctor- oi, don’t walk so fast. I’m not going to let you brush me off, and sweep things under the rug. That’s not how good communication works.” 

“I told you, I _trust_ you. It wasn’t meant to be a brush off. What else is there to talk about?”

“How about why you’re acting like this, for starters?”

“Like what?”

He feels her snatch at his coat sleeve. “Like you woke up completely certain that everything is going to go wrong today!”

She’s pulling, trying to slow him down, make him pause again, but he refuses. “Rose, I’m not certain of anything,” he replies as he walks, kicking a smallish rock free from the dirt. It skitters off into the underbrush. “That’s the problem. Sending you back was frightening enough in theory, but now that it’s here, I’m actually expected to do it…” His right hand uncurls, stretches, then clenches back into a fist. “I’m terrified that you will fire up that hopper and vanish forever.”

“But Doctor, you know that won’t happen. You’ve seen some of what what happens to me after this, you know where I’ll be, what I’ll do. You will find me again.”

“I know that, I know it, but… it’s the pattern of my life, to lose what I love.”

“You haven’t lost me. I know you believed you had, for a long time, but now I’m right here. Yes, we were separated, but that was not fate. You made choices, you thought they were your best choices, maybe your only choices, but now you know better. This is your chance to make it right.”

His anger flares again, wholly self-directed. Make it right? Is that what he’s doing? 

“I was going to take your memories, you know,” he hears himself toss at her. “Of me. I was going to remove it all, so you’d never remember our time here.”

“What?” gasps Rose. Her eyes are wide, shocked. Hurt. “Why?”

He stares back, as stunned as she is. Why had he _said_ that? Blast, this current gob of his could easily rival his Tenth’s. “Because,” he begins, free hand flailing. “Because I lost control. I went and kissed you, told you how I felt, despite knowing I shouldn’t. To let you leave here with that knowledge would have put the timeline in grave danger.”

A wet sheen glimmers in Rose’s eyes. “I couldn’t be allowed to know that you loved me?”

“No, oh no,” he replies helplessly, reaching for her. “That’s not it at all.”

Rose backs away. “Explain it, then.”

“Rose...”

“Explain. Please.”

The Doctor’s mouth opens, shuts. His tongue feels wooden and his brain is chaotic, firing off flash-images of a lost potential, of what lay down the road not chosen. Blurred, grey wind, skimming over sea and sand, over Rose. It swirls and blows, it whips her hair and reddens her eyes as she stands there, stuck between two identical men. Her heart breaks and she divvies up the pieces, but she wears blue for a reason. It’s the color of home, where she’s going. Where she belongs. 

She knows his hearts, she decides how it ends.

“It’s…big,” he finally says, only to flinch at how stupid he sounds. “It’s the fork in the road, a...a temporal trajectory point, if you will,” he modifies, after a quick rifle through his cache of technical terms. “You were always meant to know how I felt, but only at a certain place and time. Not _here,_ not from this me.”

Rose, true to form, hears what he’s not saying. “It was supposed to come from the other you, wasn’t it?” she asks quietly, looking less hurt, but more pained. “The part-human you. He says it first, and that’s what convinces me to stay with him.”

“Well, that’s changed now.” It’s all the Doctor can think of to say. They both already know Bad Wolf Bay will get a brand-new ending. He’s the competition’s unlikely victor, the first to cross the line and openly declare his feelings. Rose will no longer need to hear it from either man on the beach. Although...

He stills.

The human one will still need to say it, won’t he? He has to complete that shorn sentence, in order to earn the kiss that guts all hope from his past self, sparking his departure. Maintaining his personal timeline.

But if Rose doesn’t prompt the words, giving him desperately needed encouragement... he won’t. He won’t say it, not if he suspects he’s placing second, and-

“Doctor…” Rose pipes up, interrupting his thoughts. “He’s not… the other you, he’s not still going to say it to me. Is he? Because I don’t want…”

He’s never heard her sound so dreadfully worried, so afraid, not even whilst standing beneath impossible black holes.

Terrible realisation arrives. The Doctor feels like there’s nothing but air at his back, his heels slowly edging over the precipice he’s been backed and driven toward all morning.

Something’s not right, and it’s nothing to do with this planet. It’s all him, all his doing. It’s what he’s been asking of Rose. 

Panic settles between his lungs as the Doctor tries to begin to process this, pacing off through a clump of trees. What in the world has he been thinking? He wants her to hurt a person she loves? To kiss him, to make him hope, only to reject and leave him? 

His tender-hearted girl, his compassionate Rose. He can’t ask her to be cruel. There’s no chance she’s even capable.

The Doctor turns on his heel and gapes at her, at once absolutely horrified with himself. Utterly aghast that he’s even allowed himself to consider having her do such a thing. 

“Doctor?” asks Rose, approaching with big eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Rose,” he breathes, full of remorse. “He’ll say it. And that’s good, because he’ll mean it with all his heart. He’ll need you. And you- you’ll need him too.”

Her expression turns guarded. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” Carefully, he walks toward her. “I’m saying you should stay with him, Rose. Life that life with him, first. I’m admitting that you were right.” 

It hurts like the devil, getting that out, but once he does he feels a bit of real relief. He can actually breathe a little better.

“No,” says Rose, all stubborn indignation. “This isn’t right. Same man or no, it’s not right for me to choose two people. I accept that, I agree with it. It’s not fair. I refuse to hurt you like that.”

The Doctor gently grasps her bare forearm. “Remember what you told me, how you believe I love you too much to be selfish? Please, Rose, you’ve no idea how much I need that to be true. And this… it won't be so bad. From my perspective we won’t be parted long at all. I will be okay.”

“But Doctor,” she says, eyes welling up, “even if it’s only a day for you, it will be decades for me. I’ll change. I won’t be this me anymore.”

His chest tightens and burns and he draws a shaky breath. He can’t break down now, he’s got to be brave, for her. “Will you still love me?”

“Of course, but-“

“Then that’s all that matters,” he says, and swallows hard. “I’ve been saying and saying that I trust you. Will you please give me a chance to prove it?”

Despite his best efforts, his voice breaks a little at the end and it’s too much for Rose. Her face crumples and she buries it in his shirt buttons, her hands clutching his coat. “I don’t know,” she sobs out, voice muffled. “I don’t know if I can do it, if I can be away from you for so long. I’d miss you _so_ much.”

The Doctor combs his fingers through her hair, struggling for words. But it’s tough- a large, guilty part of him is happy she feels this way. But shouldn’t he say more to convince her otherwise?

Yet that feels wrong, too.

“There’s a choice here,” he says softly, once she calms. “And it’s yours, Rose. And if… if you do decide to be with him first, I’ll be alright. After all, up until a few days ago I believed we had no shot at a life together. But now we do, I’ll get you back, and I’m incredibly grateful. My future has never, never looked so rosy.”

Rose slowly tips her head back. Her face is flushed and tear-wet, but she gives him the most amazing eye-roll. “Oh my god. One of the most profound, heartfelt things you’ve ever said to me, and you just had to round it off with a pun?”

He grins. “What? That was inspired!” 

She shakes her head, but hugs him tight before pulling away. “Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I just…” She sighs. “I just don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

“You will,” he assures. “Okay? You don’t have to decide now, or even today or a week from now. You’ll know what’s right when the time comes.” He swallows again, and tries hard not to picture her kissing a skinny man in blue.

“Yeah, hope so,” she says, unsurely.

He offers her his hand. “Shall we?”

“Dunno,” she says, but takes it anyway. “‘M not so excited about this anymore. Can’t we just hide here forever and avoid all impossible choices?”

“Probably not, but I’m working on it,” he says wryly as they start off.

The sun is out in full-force now, filtering through the leafy canopy to cast their wooded surroundings in a clear emerald light. Warmth amplifies the earthy smell of the ground, still fairly soggy from last night’s storm. The Doctor hardly knows what to make of such decent weather, but he also hardly cares. Not with Rose so silent beside him, worriedly gnawing her lip, her eyelids still tinged red.

In truth, he half wishes a storm would rage at him, just to give him something to rage back at. He’s finally doing _right,_ he’s edged a bit closer toward being the sort of man Rose deserves, but how can he feel good about it when she looks...looks like _that?_ In a way, he’s made it all worse. The emotional burden is on her now, and he has never felt so helpless, so bone-deep angry. So useless. 

His massive, stupid brain. Cram-jam full of formulas and facts, and none of it any good to help him now. Blast, it’s his job to comfort her, at least. But how does he attempt to be soft when this self is so sharp?

“I’m sorry,” he finally voices, low. 

Rose glances his way with a frown. “What for?”

“For…” He gestures lamely. “For being so rubbish at this. At...at saying things, the right things, sympathetic things. I know I used to be far better at it.”

“You mean, your old self was?” asks Rose, smiling a little when he nods. “Doctor, don’t be daft. That you used to say so much, but he never really talked to me like you do now. He wasn’t open, or even very honest. Like, if he were here now, he’d be pretending everything was perfectly fine, like he wasn’t worried at all.” She leans into him. “I got so scared sometimes, cos I couldn’t be sure what to believe, or predict what he was gonna do.”

This is eye-opening. “Really?”

“Yeah. This is so much better. You and me, scared together,” she declares, giving him a smile as he holds up a low-hanging branch for her to pass under.

“‘Scared together,’” he repeats, as he follows. “I can do that.”

Before long, they come upon the small grove of scattered, pink-topped candy-floss trees. Papery snips of what looks like confetti litters the grass beneath them, in pastel pinks, blues, and yellows. As Rose notices, she exhales in surprise.

“Could these be the seeds?” she asks, bending to pick up a few. She spreads them out on her palm. “They’re so light and thin.”

“Maybe,” replies the Doctor. Intent on finding out, he sets his briefcase on the uneven ground. It tips over with a _thud._

“Doctor,” scolds Rose, hastily righting it. “Careful, you’ll wake Rickey.”

“No, no. I made sure he was well under.”

She’s already fiddling with the latch. “I still think I should check-“

“He’s fine,” he insists, hiding a smile as he lifts her by the elbow. “Like I’ve said -what, several times now?- he’s comfortable, he can breathe just fine, there’s no way any water can seep in, and he won’t wake up. So stop fussing.”

Rose pokes her tongue out at him, to the Doctor’s delight. “Don’t you think I’d be the first one to look in if I wasn’t certain?” he goes on, raising an eyebrow. “Do I want that incontinent creature of yours running around in there, gnawing on my most valued possessions?”

That gets him his grin. “Well,” says Rose, “so long as you remember that if he does, it’s your own fault.”

With a little wave, the Doctor dismisses that. “Now, may I see those seeds?”

She opens her hand, and he runs the beam of the sonic over the colourful snips, a quick analysis. “Ah, they’re pods, with dozens of seeds inside. Teensy little things.”

Rose turns her palm over, allowing the pods to flutter back to the ground. “Goodbye, beautiful trees,” she says, patting the smooth white truck of the one nearest. “I’ll miss you.”

As they continue through the pretty grove, the Doctor recalls their first time seeing it. Rose’s bright-eyed awe, her sweet desire to plant trees like this nearer the village for the community’s enjoyment. The bitter way he’d shot her down. _Why, you won’t be here to see them grow._

An idea strikes him, a brilliant star in the dark. 

Allowing her to get a step or two ahead of him, the Doctor crouches quickly, scooping up a small handful of the pods and pocketing them. One quick bound and he’s at her side again, planning.

The TARDIS will want in, she’ll happily craft a new garden. But it will be his own fingers poking the seeds into the soil. Then, after a joint bit of clever time manipulation, spindly sprouts will race toward fluff-topped maturity while he’s busy racing back to Rose. 

She’ll still love him, he knows that, but. Perhaps a little reminder won’t hurt? A little tangible something, to stir up her sensory memory and its accompanying emotions. A garden full of these trees, gifted to Rose on her return, will maybe, possibly, help bridge the gap that so much time apart is sure to create between them.

The Doctor imagines he feels the seeds’ sun-soaked heat against his hip, like little sparks of faith. 

But it’s not quite enough to soothe the ache in his throat.

He’ll be working so hard toward their physical reunion that he’ll hardly have time to miss her. Emotionally, however... their coming together might take significantly longer. How long he might have to wait before she’ll let him near her again? Before she’ll twine her fingers with his the way they are at this moment? Before he’ll be allowed to kiss her?

The Doctor shakes himself. It’s no use agonising over it. He told her he trusted her, and he meant it. So Rose’s trees will wait for when the time is right, for when she’s ready to remember how happy they were here. However long it takes.

They leave the little candy floss grove and enter the thickest part of woods. Neither says much as they navigate the tricky path, ducking frequent leafy branches and climbing over rocks. The Doctor is almost glad when they finally reach the steep hill, the last leg of their trek.

“Doctor?” Rose asks, as they take a short rest halfway up, each leaning their weight against a tree. “I was wondering… once I go back, is there anything in particular I need to do, or say? Or do I just let things unfold naturally, and not try to control it?”

“For the most part, yes,” he replies. “But you can’t tell anyone what happened here. You can’t tell anyone you met me, or how long you’ve been gone. You’ve got to act like it was like any other jump.”

“Yeah, okay.” Rose holds out a long blonde tress. “Might need to give me a trim, then, once we get to the TARDIS. My hair’s grown out quite a bit.”

“Alright.” 

“So... there’s nothing else?”

Absently fingering the rough bark, the Doctor takes in how tired she looks. He knows he’s got to give Rose a play-by-play of how things need to go down on that beach, and put her in charge of making sure it all works out. It’ll be quite the uncomfortable conversation. 

Now is not the time. “There are other things. But they’ll keep. We’re nearly to the lake, Rose, so we’ve got to focus. Keep our wits about us.”

Nodding decisively, Rose glances toward the hill’s summit, not too far above them, and suddenly takes off, toes digging in. “C’mon then,” she calls back to him. “Like I said, no dawdling!”

Trees and brush give way at last to a wide, sandy shoreline, and the expansive lake looks like smooth silver beneath the clear sky. No breeze touches it, its sleek surface perfectly reflecting the mountainous peaks at its far side.

“‘S almost inviting,” murmurs Rose. “It’s weirding me out.”

“Me too,” says the Doctor. “But that’s alright,” he adds, beginning to shed his coat. “We can be weirded out together, right?”

In his peripheral he catches sight of Rose, sliding one strap of her dress down an arm. Hurriedly he looks away, heat prickling his cheeks.

She erupts into giggles. “Okay, but only if we can be awkwardly self-conscious together as well.”

“Oh, definitely,” he tells her, chuckling.

Why the process of undressing is more blush-inducing than actually being undressed, the Doctor can’t explain. But once they’re down to vests and pants, he and Rose calmly pad side by side through the pebbly sand toward the water. 

“Alright,” he says to her, eyes tracking over the lake as he mentally scouts out the TARDIS’ precise location. “This should be a good entry point. You’ll want to put on that breather now, Rose, and make sure it fits snug over your-“

He shifts to help her, but she’s no longer beside him. Confused, the Doctor glances back over his shoulder. 

His hearts skip when he spots her. Rose has retreated almost to the tree line, and stands bent forward, arms vise-tight around her middle. Ashen, she gasps for breath after breath, like she’s trying to haul air into tight, seizing lungs. 

“Rose!” he shouts, sand spitting up behind him as he frantically dashes to her. Taking her in his arms, he eases down till they’re both on their knees on the sand. “It’s okay, love, it’s okay. I’m here, I’ve got you, focus on me.” 

With effort she does, eyes wild and scared, and he holds her gaze. “Okay, now try to take slow breaths, like this. One, two, three,” he counts, proud when she gamely tries to mimic him. “Yes, that’s it, in, out. Good, good, that’s my girl.”

He holds her and counts, inhale, exhale, one after another, until Rose’s breathing begins to steady. “Don’t know what happened,” she finally manages to say. 

“You were having a panic attack, dear.” The Doctor kisses her hair, rubs between her shoulder-blades. “Stress of everything probably got to you.”

Rose shakes her head, looking up at him with big eyes. “No, it’s not the stress, Doctor, it’s that I can’t… I can’t go in that lake. I _can’t.”_

His brow furrows. “You can’t? But I thought you were excited about-“ He cuts off, suddenly struck, and lifts his mental shields just the least bit. Psi-energy instantly engulfs him, basic-leveled but powerful, its source so close by his temples ache. “Oh, I am stupid,” he says, eyes narrowing. “I thought it was the planet. But it’s not, is it?”

“What do you mean, it’s not the planet?”

The Doctor’s jaw tightens as he turns his head to stare at the water. “It’s not the planet that’s sentient,” he explains. “It’s that lake. The ‘holy’ lake. The lake no one’s supposed to go near, or touch,” he tacks on in a raised voice, now speaking to it directly. “Except you wanted her to come here today, didn’t you? Just so you could fill her with fear, so she’ll give up trying to leave!”

A soft palm cups his cheek. “But why’s it just me, then?” Rose asks. “Why aren’t you afraid of it?” 

“Don’t know.” The Doctor pecks her forehead and gets to his feet, leaving his briefcase in the sand. “But I’m going to find out.”

“You’re not going in it?”

“Yes.”

“No, Doctor, what if it hurts you? It might try to drown you!”

“It never has before. And I won’t go in very deep, I promise. Just deep enough so that it can’t misunderstand me,” he says forcefully, and stalks across the sand.

_Let us go,_ commands the Doctor mentally, cold water lapping just below his knees. For good measure, he lets a good dose of his own psychic power seep through, and pairs the demand with an image of himself and Rose under water, reaching the TARDIS. 

A return image, shockingly sharp and clear, flickers through his mind with such speed that, were he any other telepathic species, he would’ve missed most of it. It’s of himself, and he’s standing on the shore with Rose. She takes his hand, turns, leads him back into the forest. 

_Of course I won’t leave her,_ he tells it. _What is it about her, anyway? Why are you willing to let me go, and not her?_

All he gets from the lake is confusion, pinwheeling dizzily through his head.

With a groan, the Doctor shuts his eyes and shoves another vision at it. Rose and himself again, but this time they’re inside the TARDIS. A lever is pulled, the ship fades from the lake. He repeats his demand. _Let us go._

Some of the confusion clears, and a new picture shimmers to life in his mind’s eye. Breeze-blown grass, a mountainous background, an empty space where a faint rectangle of blue soon solidifies into the TARDIS. The peaceful scene shatters: his time-ship flies up haphazardly, spinning high over mountains, until it finally jerks into a smooth tight arc like a fish on a hook. 

The Doctor holds his breath as he watches the Police Box hit the lake top-lamp first, and is swallowed up by an enormous, glittering splash. This bit he remembers all too well. Remembers the bruises he sustained from living through it.

Down it sinks, upside-down in the murky water, it sinks and sinks, until the lake bottom comes into view. Now the Doctor hosts his own confusion. That’s not how it went. The TARDIS did not come to rest like that, foot over head-

The picture shifts strangely, like a coin being turned over. He sees his ship touch down properly, right-side-up, mud curling up at her base to cloud the water. He sees himself emerge and swim off.

_What is your point?_ he demands, frustrated. _I know how I got here, what’s it have to do with anything?_

The vision clicks to something new, like changing a channel. Now he’s looking at unfamiliar cottages, all thatched roofs and dark windows, underneath a starry, dual-mooned sky. 

Same planet, different village, the Doctor quickly deduces, and then he freezes, hearts stopping, as he sees Rose flash into existence. She’s dressed in her black trousers and blue jacket, dimension cannon hung round her neck. It glows faintly gold.

Riveted, he watches as she turns in a slow circle, absorbing her surroundings. Disappointment slumps her shoulders, and she heads for a nearby fountain. She perches on its rim, trailing her fingers through the water. 

The cannon brightens like a polished moon, lighting up her face from underneath, and Rose looks down at it. As she stands up the Doctor’s neck prickles, hairs on end as he watches her press the button. 

She fades into the ether.

“That’s not true!” he shouts, and though he feels the chill of the water again he can’t seem to open his eyes. “That cannon has never worked since she came here!“ 

“Doctor, what’s wrong?” he hears Rose exclaim. “Doctor?!” 

But he’s stuck, half-in, half-out of the vision, water and grass, warm sun and starry sky, the never-ending trickle of that sodding fountain layered over Rose’s frightened voice. 

Though she doesn’t look frightened. Just a bit worried, sitting there, as she studies the dark cannon in her hands.

“Doctor!”

Something snaps, and the Doctor’s eyes pop open. Water laps at his waist -when had he sat down?- and he scrambles to his feet, scanning for Rose. 

She’s worked her way surprisingly close to the lake’s edge, looking as skittish as a rabbit and worried sick. “Are you okay?” she asks, shoving her hair back. “I was calling and calling, but you just sat there.”

“I’m fine,” he replies mechanically, staring at her, water dripping off him into the lake at his knees. He feels like he’s missing something. Something big.

“So… did it say something? You shouted, something about the cannon. Did you figure out what’s going on?” 

He shakes his head, drags a wet hand down his face. The cannon. The lake claimed the cannon worked, that Rose used it and left, when she obviously didn’t. Couldn’t. Not with the bloody thing turned to bone.

Bone. 

Anti-clockwise DNA. Backward writing on the psychic paper. Odd mirrors.

And Rose, _sitting on the rim of the fountain._

That’s it. That’s the gold he needs, the gold that lets him bind all the shards like kintsugi. Oh, he knows what’s happening here, and it’s _not_ broken. It’s whole and beautiful and _his_ , and as his eyes find Rose, he can’t help but gaze at her in awe.

She notices, and frowns. “Doctor, are you alright?”

“Oh yes,” he says. And he has never meant it more: he feels buoyant and light, like he could float, like he’s shed an overcoat of lead. It’s almost too much, he’s giddy and overwhelmed, and as he trudges out of the water, the Doctor begins to laugh helplessly. 

Brows drawn, Rose hurries over, dragging him from the lake’s edge by his arm. “I’m alright,” he tells her again, only because she looks so worried. He’s managed to stop laughing, but his smile’s so big his face aches. “I am very, very, very alright.”

Her hand comes up, brushes his cheek and comes away wet. “Happy tears, then?” 

Well, look at that. Here he is, crying, and he didn’t even notice. The Doctor answers her with a nod.

Rose finally smiles, a confused little upturn of lips, but it vanishes as her gaze drifts past him. _“Doctor.”_

She’s… she’s _spooked._

Inhaling quickly, the Doctor whirls around to look at the lake, to see what she sees. But there’s nothing there. Nothing but his own image and the blue sky above him, mirrored sharp and clear by the shining water.

_Oh. Of course._

“Doctor,” Rose repeats, in the same breathless way. “I don’t have a reflection.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I given you all enough clues yet??? ;)


End file.
